


Demon City

by armethaumaturgy



Series: Demon City Verse [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: & exorcists, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Ballroom Dancing, Blood and Injury, Cross (X-tale) - Freeform, Dust (Dusttale) - Freeform, Exorcist Cross, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Angel Nightmare, Fights, Horror (Horrortale) - Freeform, Killer (Killertale) - Freeform, M/M, Masquerade, Minor Character Death, Nightmare (Dreamtale) - Freeform, Nun Dust, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Burn, Themes of Racism, and Demon everyone else, bad sanses poly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: Cross is an exorcist, and this is just another job for him.And here he is, in a city crawling with demons, and murders happening overnight. The culprit should be obvious, shouldn't it? Too bad for Cross, it isn't.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Demon City Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128764
Comments: 131
Kudos: 177





	1. blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked

**Author's Note:**

> its here its here its here im so excited to work on this. this au was sparked by a random idea thread i made on twitter, and you can learn more in the [#demoncityau tag](https://twitter.com/search?q=%23demoncityau&src=typed_query)! (nsfw warning, though!)  
> cover has been drawn by my wonderful wife, give him a follow [here](https://twitter.com/reclawedcat)! (also nsfw warning!)

Cross’ bones prickled with the unmistakable pressure in the air.

The moment he’d gotten off the bus, shrugging to adjust his knapsack, it’d felt like walking into a solid wall, knocking the breath out of his non-existent lungs. Even the youngest, freshest student at the Order’s Academy would’ve been able to sense the demon presence that hung around, thick like fog and heavy like a hand squeezing around his SOUL.

Cross pulled out his phone from the inside pocket of his vest and opened the map app to help guide him to the hotel he’d be staying at. There was only one hotel in the entire city, but that was besides the point.

The city itself wasn’t really that big and he’d never heard of it. But this wasn’t his first job traveling across the country, or to a place he knew nothing about; the exorcists were few and far in between, and in high demand. He took a deep breath and let the demonic energy wash over him for a moment. It was so strong. Hopefully, with such strong energy, it wouldn’t take too long to find the culprit behind those alleged murders.

He had the request in his pack, with all the papers that came along with it, even though he had thought it redundant to carry around. But protocol was protocol and he wasn’t about to break it.

He set off where the map guided him, muting the monotone voice, and each step he took felt like walking through molasses. He knew spiritually-unaligned folks couldn’t sense demonic energy, but for there to not be a single one in the whole city? That was almost unbelievable. Someone _had_ to have felt the presence before. The further down the street he went, the thicker the air grew, leading to him pulling his scarf up to cover his face up to his nasal bone.

It was fine; he'd grow accustomed to it in no time, and it was merely a brief distraction for now.

The buildings and stores he passed by were simple, old builds that didn’t see renovation in quite the handful of years, and there wasn’t anything too extravagant. The most outstanding one he’d seen so far was a jeweler, with flashy watches and overpriced necklaces in the window displays. Otherwise there was nothing much other than simple clothing stores, cafés and restaurants.

And the amount of people out and about was also very small, especially compared to the hustle and bustle of the city Cross was used to. The capital was large, several times the size of this, though Cross hadn’t seen that much of it, usually confined to the Academy or out on assignments.

Local humans looked at him as he passed them by, their eyes full of contempt and… was that jealousy? The monsters, on the other hand, didn’t spare him another glance, which was interesting, to say the least. Perhaps there was a skeleton monster around with a reputation?

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind did he spot a skeleton monster down the street he turned into, back to a brick wall. He would’ve chalked it up to a weird coincidence, if only the skeleton didn’t turn and watch him as he made his way closer. It almost felt like the stare was scorching straight through him, right down to the SOUL.

By the time he’d gotten close enough to get a proper look and see that the skeleton lacked eyelights but more than made up for it with black tar leaking out of those eyesockets, he was also close enough to taste the energy around him. It wasn’t the same as what was pressing down on him, ancient and otherworldly, but the tang of death was bitter on Cross’ conjured tongue, potent enough to fill his nasal cavity with itself with a single breath.

He was staring down a demon.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to jump in, fingers itching to summon his weapon, but his mind protested, yelling about the civilians as he darted a look around. It was also unwise to jump in with no preparation, and he didn’t quite fancy dying tonight.

The wind picked up, toying with the ends of his scarf, and the sun was setting, hues of orange and red spilling over the horizon to bathe the city in their warm embrace. It wasn’t a very fitting backdrop to a demon, nor to a fight, Cross thought.

With another look around, he ducked into an alleyway, away from the last warm rays of the day. His fingers curled around nothing, and he waited.

He didn’t need to wait for long.

“What’s a church boy like you doing around these parts?” the demon asked, rounding the corner. His voice was deep, maybe deeper than Cross’ own, and tinted with amusement. “Causing trouble?”

In one hand, the demon twirled a butterfly knife, red as blood, and Cross’ mind decided that was enough of a warning bell to summon his own. The handle fit into his palm as perfectly as every time, the weight of the weapon grounding. He never knew someone could look so condescending without eyelights.

“The Order had been notified of a demon around _these parts_ ,” Cross said, taking a step back as the demon took one forward, and then another, and then another. “It seems to be a correct assumption from where I stand.”

The demon stopped when Cross’ back hit the dead end of the alley and his teeth curled into a grin that showed off just how _sharp_ his fangs were. “And what’cha gonna do about it?”

Cross took a deep breath and teleported behind the demon, bracing a hand on his forearm to swing his weapon down. His knife made a shrill _clang_ as it connected with the butterfly knife, sparks flying between the two weapons.

“Was it you?” he asked, twisting on a heel to dodge when another knife came for his shoulder.

“Was _what_ me?” The demon raised a browbone, and then he was behind Cross with yet another knife, the red butterfly abandoned to fall to the ground. Cross parried, widening his stance.

“The murders,” he gritted out, letting his knife vaporize in a shower of red sparkles. If the demon wanted to play like this, Cross would oblige. His hands gripped his bone blades and wretched the new, blue knife out of the demon’s grip.

The demon shook his wrist and pulled yet another knife from the pocket of his jacket, flicking the switchblade open. He was still looking at Cross with that gaze that screamed condescension — or maybe it was amusement? Cross wasn’t too good at identifying emotions, but at the very least he knew when they were genuine.

“Yeah, about that—” Their weapons met again and again, clang of steel on bone deafening as it echoed within the narrow walls. “—you’re gonna have to be more specific which murders, cause I got plenty to my name.”

Cross grit his teeth, kicking out with a foot and tripping the other. He was breathing heavily by now, and wasn’t fast enough on the downswing. The demon rolled back to his feet, brandishing a new pair of knives — how _many_ of these did he even have?! — and laughing. “The recent ones, _demon._ ”

The demon’s laughter reached a higher pitch, reverberating in Cross’ acoustic meatuses. “Yeah, those ones aren’t us.”

Cross’ features hardened into a scowl and their weapons met again, strike after strike, pushing until they were almost to the lip of the alleyway. He knew better than to trust a demon.

And then, out of the blue, a bubbly tune pierced the air. The demon dug his soles into the concrete and pushed back, sending Cross reeling a few paces back with the force. He narrowly missed the blade flying towards his skull; it lodged itself harmlessly into the wall. The demon was pulling another knife out of his pocket— wait, no, that was a phone.

“Yeah, sup?”

Cross could feel his marrow boiling at the blatant way he was being underestimated. His grip tightened until the bone constructs creaked under the strain, and the alleyway lit up with the row of knives he summoned over his shoulder.

“Uh, yep,” the demon said to whoever was calling him, parrying one of the crimson weapons only to be hit by another, though it was nothing more than a graze along the humerus. “Shit.”

Cross summoned more of them, but the demon pinned him with a flat stare, shifting his grip of the now azure knife. The next barrage of bones he teleported out of, and Cross ducked under the wide swing that had been aimed straight for his throat.

“It was nothing—” Swing and miss. “ _What_ ! Since when do I have a fucking curfew?!” Swing and miss. “Oh _fuck_ you. I’ll be there in ten.”

Cross tried to kick his feet out from him again, but the demon expected it this time, grabbing his foot mid-air and tripping him instead. Cross hit the ground with a grunt, his uniform barely protecting him from a concussion.

The demon was leaning over him, extremely pissed off from the looks of it. A drop of whatever was dripping from his eyesockets fell and landed squarely on Cross’ chest, staining the white of his vest. He’d heard of people’s lives flashing before their eyes as they were about to die, but all Cross saw were those empty sockets glaring down at him, bottomless and darker than the night, than darkness itself.

He almost felt like he could get swallowed up in their depth, like a turbulent sea that sinks a ship, never to be heard of again.

It had been a long time since he felt this feeling.

His SOUL beat heavily in his ribcage. 

“Good job,” the demon drawled, voice so heavy with sarcasm Cross was half-surprised that it didn't drip, too. He brushed a few phalanges along where Cross’ knife had nicked into his arm. “You got me grounded. Guess I’ll see you later, church boy.”

The knife the demon had held hit the cobblestone next to Cross’ head, its sound almost deafening from up close, and in the next moment the demon was gone, leaving Cross gasping for air he didn’t truly need on the ground, adrenaline pumping through his marrow like molten lava.

The sun had set by then, and the streetlamps’ glow barely reached the alleyway. The adrenaline ebbed out of him like the warmth of the sun from the city, and he sat up after a few minutes, trying to get his breathing under control.

He could hear people around, out and about, but the alleyway felt secluded even with all the background chatter and noise. Gingerly, like it could come to life and stab him at any moment, he picked up the last knife used against himself — a beautiful, onyx black butterfly knife — and stared for it for long moments before pocketing it. If asked, he’d deny almost cutting his palm whilst trying to close it.

The entire alleyway was littered with weapons, switchblades and butterfly knives and _normal_ knives, and he wouldn’t believe someone could have this many of them on their person if he hadn’t witnessed it firsthand.

He contemplated taking all of them, as evidence, but his pack was already full and he couldn’t safely carry two dozen knives, anyways. He contented himself with the one in his pocket, even though it felt like it was burning a hole through the fabric. His fingers brushed against it as he was pulling his phone out, and he shuddered at the feeling of the cold steel. 

He made sure to keep an eyesocket out on his surroundings as he continued his trek towards the hotel, steps much more hurried than his casual walk upon arrival.

At least there was one thing he had been right about; the demonic presence in the air no longer felt as oppressive as it had before.


	2. not a word from their mouth can be trusted; their heart is filled with malice

The hotel turned to be nothing to write home about, though Cross wasn't sure what he even expected in the first place. 

A bunny monster greeted him at the reception, eyeing his uniform with unabashed curiosity. Or maybe she had been judging those stains that covered the white fabric, and wondering if he'd cause trouble for her. Cross was past the point of trying to discern which one it was and simply took his room key with a word of thanks.

The room was small, just a bed in one corner, a stand with an old-fashioned TV in the other, and a coffee table with two armchairs. But there was a bathroom and the room had a lock, and that was all Cross had ever needed anyways. It wasn't like his room at the Academy was much different.

And he really needed to wash up, his clothes sticking to him with drying sweat. In the morning, he'd go and meet his commissioner, the local church's priest. In the morning, yes.

Cross’ sleep was fitful at best, but at least he’d felt marginally better upon waking than he did falling asleep. The clothes that he'd washed had fully dried by then, thank the stars; he pulled them on and then stared at the butterfly knife he’d set onto the table. He pocketed it, just in case. There were traces of the demon’s energy clinging to it, probably from prolonged exposure, and it could come in handy if he had to track him down.

He nodded a goodbye to the receptionist and then he was outside, heading towards the church. The presence in the air had lessened, Cross’ magic growing accustomed to its weight, but it had shifted slightly, as if the intent behind it had changed. It felt… almost angry, like a million stares boring into him with the intensity of a sun. Like the demon wasn’t pleased with his presence.

Cross did the one thing he was good at — soldiered on.

The church was probably the most intricate — and prettiest — building he’d seen in town so far. With tall windows made of stained glass in shades of yellows and oranges and a tall tower jutting from the top, it painted a pretty picturesque sight. The ornate clock on it declared it to be just after seven.

Voices were coming from the inside, so Cross stayed quiet as he slipped inside through the engraved doors. As expected, a service was just starting and, much to his surprise, the church pews were fully filled. Humans listened to the priest’s words, yet Cross couldn’t spot a single monster.

Well, that wasn’t entirely correct.

Behind the altar, off to the side and half-hidden behind a pillar, stood a nun. Cross had to do a double take. Yes, that was another skeleton monster, looking blankly at the priest with mismatched eyelights. While being an exorcist did make Cross part of the church, technically, it wasn’t very often that he’d seen monsters adapt the human religion. Their kind had gods of their own, and the knowledge that anyone could become one. It was unbecoming of him to judge, though, so he didn’t.

He waited patiently for the service to end and humans to start dispersing. Only when a handful of them remained did he step up to the altar, and to the priest who was putting things away for a later service.

“Good morning, Father,” he said, clearing his throat to get his attention.

The priest turned to him, a warm smile on his lips that melted off as he took Cross’ form in, looking him up and down. His distaste was palpable in the wrinkles on his forehead, but Cross had long since learned to expect as much. The priest’s attempt at a warm tone was forced at best, and terribly insulting at worst. “My child. What brings you to me?”

Cross straightened out a little. “You’ve called for an exorcist, correct, Father?”

His words had obviously caught the priest off guard; he gave Cross another once-over, looking at his garb in a new light. “I… see,” he said, “You… are not whom I expected.”

Cross forced himself to remain calm, fighting down a scoff. “The Order is made entirely of monsters,” he noted.

“Of course, child. Let us take this somewhere more private.”

Cross nodded and let himself be led towards the back room. They passed the nun, and the priest stopped briefly to address him.

“Keep an eye out on things, Dust.”

“I do not have eyes, Father,” the nun replied, stepping from the shade. His eyelights sparkled in the light that filtered in, golden shadows playing across his skull. His earrings glinted; he looked nothing less than regal. “I will keep an eyesocket out.”

Cross had to stifle his laugh, but despite his efforts, the nun definitely noticed, if his little smirk was anything to go by. The priest did too; the glare he sent the nun’s — Dust, was it? — way was obvious. He was sensing some bad blood between the two. Bad blood  _ and  _ marrow. 

The priest led him into the back, a storage of sorts, with a messy desk stacked with paperwork left and right. He sat on the office chair; Cross kept standing, despite there being an extra chair by the wall. Instead, he pulled out the stack of papers he'd been sent from his knapsack and sifted through them.

“Father…?”

“Julian.”

“...Julian. There most definitely is a demonic presence in the city. It isn’t even masking itself.”

“Oh, I knew it! There was no doubt… No one but a demon would kill my most devoted believers!”

Cross rose a browbone at the outburst of anger. “I… take it you have a suspect in mind?” he asked, reading between the lines as if there had been space in the first place.

“I do. There are...” Father Julian looked him head on, and then immediately hesitated, averting his gaze off to the side. Cross noted a wooden visage of the crucifixion fixed there. “...skeletons…”

He prompted the priest with an inquisitive, “Yes?” when he’d trailed off into silence.

“One of them is… Well... He goes by ‘Nightmare.’ Coated in pure sin, that one! I would bet my life that it was him! Or that other one he keeps… like a pet. Calls him ‘Killer!’ Tell me, is that not obvious enough?!”

Cross opted not to comment on that, or explain monster naming conventions. Especially not skeleton ones. He was sure it would just fall on deaf ears. But it was a lead nonetheless, and the only one he had. For now.

“Thank you, Father Julian. Do you happen to know where I could find those… skeletons you’ve described?”

“They live up in the mansion, by the forest up north. I hope you can expose them quickly. There is panic spreading within the city.”

Cross put the papers back into his bag. The priest seemed all too sure about his suspicion, but Cross had always been thorough with his jobs. It was simply protocol. “Of course, Father. I hope so, too.”

And with that, he twisted on his heel and marched out of the cramped room. The nun from before nodded at him as he passed, so he nodded back, barely noticing the curious look for just a moment before the nun went back to his duties.

It almost seemed like the demonic presence falling back over his shoulders as he exited the church was easier to deal with than the priest had been. He took a deep breath of the morning air, despite not needing it.

Cross liked to do his research before he dove skull-first into something. It wouldn’t do to simply barge in on the alleged suspects, especially if they could’ve been accused simply by the Father’s prejudice. So he searched the suspects up.

And apparently Father Julian forgot to tell him that Nightmare was a very prominent monster philanthropist. _And_ a millionaire.

Every single article that came up was about charity balls and auctions held in his name, to aid monster-oriented causes, save a few that talked about… fashion choices, for some reason. Cross had never kept up with tabloids, but he supposed that was normal when one was a known figure? And Cross was sure that he’d found the correct monster — Father Julian’s description of _‘covered in sin’_ very loosely translated to a slime-skeleton hybrid. Maybe it was the black color that evoked a likeness to sin in the priest? Whatever it was, it complicated the job significantly.

The Order had an image to upkeep, and a single screw up could tarnish it, maybe irrevocably. Cross didn’t know how it had been before Gaster had taken over as Head exorcist, but he’d heard from the older members, hushed whispers over supper — how much better it was now. Learning of the monsters’ ability to deal with demons easier and faster than humans ever could, it had only been a matter of time until it had been exploited. Running the monster exorcists haggard and treating them as lesser in the church had been commonplace. The values might still have existed around the world, as Cross had just witnessed, but back home, they were respected for their skill now. 

Gaster was the first monster put in charge in any capacity by the church, and Cross did not want to ruin that. If not for himself, then for all the other exorcists. He’d always been on thin ice with Gaster, anyways, from the very start. It wouldn’t end well.

So he was at a bit of an impasse. There was no way he could simply accuse a monster who did so much for the monster community of being a demon with no proof. 

But the energy in the air was more than enough to assure him that sooner or later, he  _ would _ run into the demon.

He’d been clicking through links as his thoughts went on a tangent of their own, and he scrolled back up when something caught his attention. An article about an upcoming charity ball, hosted by none other than Nightmare himself. Cross’ wallet had a good sum of G in it — though most definitely all-too-modest in comparison to the people who would be attending — but maybe it was worth a shot. 

Even if it turned out to be a dead end, supporting a charity event was far from the worst way to spend his money. Not like he used it for much, anyways.

He checked the date of the article’s publication, and then double checked the date of the ball.  It was scheduled to be held in four days, if his mental calculations and phone’s calendar were correct, and at Nightmare’s mansion, of all places. Cross nodded to himself.

Four days was plenty of time to investigate, and see if he could find something out that would point in a different direction. 

Now, the only question was — what would he even wear to a masquerade?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, chanting; ball ball ball ball ball ball ball ball ball ball bALL BALL BALL BALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	3. some trust in chariots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah!! for anyone who hasnt read the extra/cross' backstory, crown is the name i gave x!paps, because i couldnt find any nicknames for him haha! ♥

Cross would deny it to his last breath if asked, but the idea of attending a masquerade was exciting to him. Maybe more than it should have been.

He'd never had the option of indulging in such a thing, an opportunity never presenting itself with the kind of life he had. He'd spent (an obscene amount of) time researching the basics, standing in front of the church on his phone like a lunatic, because when he'd read the theme of the ball was 'the sky,' he didn't understand what that meant. And once he'd found out, he'd spent another (obscene) chunk of time thinking up a costume.

The only other thing he had brought with him on the job had been a change of clothes and the bare necessities, all of them resting in the bag on his shoulders. Not that there was anything he  _ could've _ brought, or at least nothing that would fit for such an occasion.

He… was getting ahead of himself. In more ways than one.

It wasn't even past noon and he'd found himself with a rental suit, white as snow, carefully pressed and folded in a paper bag that he held in a too-tight grip. He stood in front of a craft store, and he felt like an idiot.

Suddenly, his enthusiasm deflated like a balloon, leaving him feeling silly. What was he doing? He was an exorcist, and he was here on a job, for stars' sake! And he'd just gotten totally sidetracked by something frivolous, a simple delusion. A stupid… fantasy. What would his brother say if he could see him?

If Cross was being honest with himself, which he rarely was, Crown would've already thought up three different costumes for the both of them and also made them match, probably. He'd always loved arts and crafts. It was that thought alone that made Cross walk into the craft store.

The bell above the door rang too loud in his acoustic meatuses, and the clerk's voice was too high-pitched, but Cross walked out of the store with another paper bag, with cardstock and glue and fake feathers and a can of golden spray paint rattling around. He'd even bought glitter, because Crown had loved glitter. And if he was going to do this, he was going to do it in a way that would make his brother proud.

"Well, hello there, little church boy."

Cross' thoughts were cut midway, and it felt like a bucket of ice cold water being dumped onto him. His head snapped in the direction of the voice, every little bit of his magic going tense as a board.

Leaning against the glass of the store's display was the selfsame demon that had been Cross' first welcome in this city. He looked, for all of the world, as if nothing had happened. He wore the same thing as he had the day before, but when Cross' eyelights slid down to his arm, there was nothing there, no cut through the sleeve of his hoodie. It didn't even look like it's been mended. No, it looked like it had never happened.

He realized he was just standing there, both his hands full —  _ 'First lesson, Cross. Always keep a hand empty, in case you need a weapon.' _ And then his hand had been severed at the wrist. — and then he realized he was standing in the middle of the street, and he couldn't start a fight where civilians could be harmed —  _ 'Second lesson, Cross. Always seek out a secluded place, in case of debris.' _ And then a building had been leveled. Sometimes, Cross could still hear the screams. — and finally, he realized that the demon was just standing there, watching him with blank sockets.

_ 'Third lesson, Cross. Never trust a demon.'  _

He never did get his brother's ashes to spread over the tattered copy of Peek-a-boo with Fluffy Bunny.

"So, I've heard you would be attending the charity ball this weekend."

Cross realized he'd been zoning out again, but he'd run out of lessons. Just as well, because if there had been more, he might've collapsed on his own, no help needed.

His throat felt dry, which was a feat for a skeleton who had no throat. "How did you—"

Nobody could've known; hell,  _ Cross _ didn't even know until he'd walked into the suit rental store.

The demon smirked at him.  _ Smirked _ ! He was being mocked, no doubt about it. And the worst part of it was that it was working. "Let's just say, a little bunny told me."

Cross' browbones furrowed and he took a step back. The demon didn't move. "I thought the saying went 'a little birdie told me'," he said, steady as he could.

The demon's teeth quirked further up. A bit more, and the lecherous smile would split his skull on two. Cross almost wished for that to happen. 

"It does, when it's not a joke," the demon laughed.

Cross wasn't about to ask what that meant, and the demon was apparently not going to share. So they lapsed into silence. His fingers were going numb from how hard he was gripping the bags.

"If you came looking for a fight…" he tried to go for a threatening tone, but he had a feeling that raising and jostling the bags was detracting from the desired effect…

The demon laughed and waved a hand in the air, as if to wave the thought away. “Not really.”

Cross shifted, his legs a little more apart.  _ Never trust a demon, _ he repeated to himself. He shifted the bags so he was holding them in one hand, and then summoned one of his blades.  _ Get away from the main street, _ he told himself, like he was running through the checklist.

He turned and started walking away, gripping his blade in a way he could stab backwards, if need be.

“Hey— Church boy!” the demon called after him.

Cross turned his head  _ just  _ enough that he could see him running to catch up; there was no knife to be seen on him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one. Or two dozen of them. He caught up, and fell in step with Cross, on the side he held the bags.

Oh, that wouldn’t do. Gritting his teeth, Cross teleported to his left. “Have you ever heard the story of Icarus?”

He refused to look at the demon, determinately staring straight ahead instead of chancing to catch his eyesockets. A chill ran down his spine just remembering their nothingness. He was close enough that a flick of his wrist would de-arm the demon, if it came to that. Quite literally, in fact.

“The wax wings kid? What’s he gotta do with this?”

Cross suddenly had the urge to pinch his nasal bridge. “Why are you following me?”

The demon chuffed a laugh and then he was in front of Cross, hands stuck in his pockets and leaning up into Cross’ personal space. He got a bone blade to the throat for his trouble, and Cross got a miniscule panic attack.

“Put the toy away, church boy,” he said, pushing the blade away, “Look, I wouldn’t follow you if you didn’t run away.”

“We’re in the middle of the street,” Cross growled, like that was an explanation that the demon would understand. He was waiting for him to pull a knife out from  _ somewhere _ , and his eyelights darted around to look for anywhere more approp— 

“Look, I’ve been told to play nice. So I’m playing nice. I’m Killer.” One hand was pulled out of the pocket and Cross jumped back, but it was empty and the demon simply held it out. Did he seriously think Cross would be stupid enough to shake it?

Wait. Rewind.

Killer? The same Killer that Father Julian had said Nightmare kept as a ‘pet’, whatever that meant? Well, fuck.

Guess both of them had to play nice. (Which was another giant question mark in Cross’ mind; who would’ve told Killer to _ play nice _ ? He was a demon, after all. Was he bound in a contract, maybe?) Cross forced all the alarm bells to the background as he let his blade disappear and took the demon’s hand.

It was warm, which came as a surprise to Cross, for some reason. He’d expected it to be as cold as the blades that have been hurled at him.

“Cross.”

Killer might not have had any eyelights, but Cross could tell when someone was  _ leering  _ at him. Up and down the demon’s gaze went, until he quirked a browbone. “Yeah. Like six of ‘em.”

Cross frowned. It took him a moment, and a glance down at himself, to put context to the remark. “Very funny,” he said, flat as one could.

Killer’s grin showed off his canines, sharp and dangerous. “Yeah, I’m a riot.” Then he paused, and looked at Cross again. “Wait— That’s seriously your name?”

“Uh… yes?”

“Oh my god,” he muttered, before devolving into cackles, “Where the hell does the church come up with this shit? Ohh man.”

Cross wasn’t sure if he was being made fun of, or if the demon was joking about the church itself. He supposed it didn’t matter, especially when Killer draped an arm on his shoulder, using it almost like an armrest. Which put him uncomfortably far into Cross’ personal space again.

“Anyways, I got a place I wanna show you,” Killer said. He must’ve sensed that the way he’d phrased it didn’t evoke much trust. Or any, for that matter. He laughed again. “It’s a café. You’ll love it.”

“Demons drink coffee.” Cross had meant it as a question, but somewhere along the way, his skepticism had gotten in the way and made it a statement instead.

“Actually, I’m not a coffee guy. Love his scones, though.”

What the fuck had led Cross to this point in his life, where he was listening to a demon,  _ following  _ said demon to a most probable trap, with a goddamn rental suit in hand? He was sure Gaster would’ve torn him a new one if he could see him.

He _ could _ simply stab him and have his peace of mind again. But Killer had said the killings that were happening ‘ _ weren’t them. _ ’ Sure, he could’ve been lying, as demons were wont to, but if he was connected to Nightmare, it’d make his investigation a pain. And with a lowered guard, maybe Killer would let something slip?

He was pulled out of his thoughts, for the second time, by Killer’s voice. “Here it is.”

Cross hadn’t even realized they’d walked so far already, but they stood in a completely different street, in front of a quaint little café. There was a red banner above the door, proclaiming the establishment to be called the  _ Little Café of Horrors _ .

“I’m not sure the name fits,” Cross noted as he took in the multitude of flower planters lined up by its wall, the pastel pink awning, and the messy handwritten specials on the chalkboard.

Killer smiled at the sight, maybe a bit softer than Cross had seen him so far, but it wasn’t like Cross was looking at him right now. “Fits more than you’d think.” Before Cross could ask what the hell that meant, Killer ushered him in, “Go on, the door don’t bite.”

Everything in this city seemed to have a bell above the door, and this time wasn’t an exception. The inside was small, just a handful of tables, but it felt cozy instead of claustrophobic. There were more planters with various flowers — on the floor, on the windowsills, on the counter — and the whole place smelled of fresh coffee. The glass display case held no less than a dozen of cakes and pastries, and Cross was finding himself hungry all of a sudden.

Cross’ eyelights finally fell onto the barista, standing behind the counter and watching him back with a single eye. He was tall, another skeleton, with a polka-dotted bandanna tied around his skull and wearing a pastel green apron.

And he was holding a cleaver, poised to be thrown square at Cross.

Time seemed to slow down as they kept eye contact, Cross’ SOUL hammering in his ribcage. He’d known it would turn out to be a trap, he’d known—!

Killer threw an arm around his shoulders and grinned lazily at the barista. “Church boy’s with me,” he said, and, a little hesitantly, the cleaver was tucked under the counter with an audible  _ clang _ .

Cross was so shocked that he felt rooted to the place, even as Killer let go and bounded up to the counter and leaned over to press his teeth to the barista’s.

“Haven’t checked the group chat? We’re  _ playing nice _ . This’s Cross.”

“Forgot,” the barista said, voice deep and gravelly. His eye darted to Cross again, and he suddenly realized  _ everyone  _ in the room was staring at him, save for Killer. “The usual?”

Killer pulled a chair from one of the two unoccupied tables and plopped it down by the empty part of the counter. He threw an expectant look Cross’ way before repeating the process and sitting down.

There… was a lot to unpack here.

The entire kiss thing, for starters.

Cross sat down next to Killer as the barista turned to the coffee machine and stuck the metal milk jug under the steam valve. It fizzed for a couple seconds and then he was back, carefully pouring the milk into a tall glass. Cross would see how jittery some of his movements were.

“Here you go, cutlet,” the barista said — if Cross squinted hard enough, he could make out the name on the nametag he wore — ‘Horror.’ Guess the café’s name really  _ did  _ make sense, after all — and Killer reached over to take it, along with a straw.

“Thanks,” Killer grinned, sticking the straw between his teeth. 

“Is that just warm milk?” Cross asked, incredulous.

Killer shrugged the best he could while leaning on an elbow. “Told you I wasn’t a coffee person. What’d you want, Six-Cross?”

“Uh…” Maybe he could get rid of an earring? Or he could add a necklace. Anything to spite the demon and the budding nicknames. Instead of dwelling on it, he looked up at the menu written on a chalk wall behind Horror. He wasn’t the biggest coffee lover, and, honestly, what the hell did espresso macchiato even  _ mean _ ? “Do you have hot chocolate?”

Killer leveled him with a flat stare. Which didn’t look much different from a normal stare, but it sure  _ felt _ different. “You judge me for my warm milk and then order warm milk,  _ with chocolate _ in it.”

Cross shrugged, except it was much more visible and impactful, because he wasn’t half-sprawled on the counter like Killer was. “Yeah.”

Horror took another glass and carefully spooned cocoa powder into it, and then dumped the leftover milk from the jug onto it. He was smirking when he turned back and Cross could see it. “Couldn’t have asked for… ‘nything easier.”

Cross was handed a tall spoon to mix it all together, and when he took a sip, it tasted pretty damn good. As he slowly drank his  _ warm milk with chocolate in it _ , he wondered what Horror’s deal was. He couldn’t feel demonic energy from the tall skeleton. In fact, he couldn’t feel much of anything, even if he concentrated.

But apparently he was in a relationship with Killer? Cross had never heard of a demon being in a relationship, or being able to feel love. The Academy did focus more on how to dispatch them than anything, though.

Cross could summon a knife and pin him to the counter by the arm he was leaning on, and then he’d have a free shot at his SOUL. Or he could send a well-aimed knife straight for the SOUL from behind, if he distracted him. Maybe even both of them.

_ Never jump into the fray head-first. _

Horror had pulled out his phone at some point, at Killer’s insistence, and was reading through a group chat, from the looks of it. He was very expressive, Cross found out as he watched. His eyesocket was also damaged, a crack going just below it as well as disappearing above, under the bandanna.

And then Killer wrapped an arm around his shoulders again and almost made him spill his drink.

“Say ‘church’!” Killed said, and didn’t even give Cross enough time to do so, or even process the request past a brief glare, before he was extending his arm and his phone’s camera shutter clicked.

Not for the first time that day, he wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, chanting louder; BALL BALL BALL BALL BALL BALL BALL BALL BALL B A L L B A L L B A L L  
> soon......................................


	4. INTERMISSION 1; my heart is stirred by a noble theme

🪓, [05:11]

> aw i missed you by like 10 minutes

dbunny🐰, [05:11]

> Go back to sleep

🪓, [05:13]

> no

dbunny🐰, [07:27]

> Uhh, hey @Kills?

Kills, [07:28]

> what

dbunny🐰, [07:28]

> Your church boy showed up

Kills, [07:29]

> course he fucking did, youre IN a church

dbunny🐰, [07:29]

> He laughed at my pun

Kills, [07:30]

> ??

Kills, [07:30]

> what does that mean, dust??

Kills, [07:30]

> DUST

Kills, [07:31]

> @dbunny🐰 what the FUCK does that mean

dbunny🐰, [07:32]

> Hold on

dbunny🐰, [07:32]

> He's just.. standing outside

Kills, [07:32]

> can you stop being cryptic?? should i drop by??

dbunny🐰, [07:34]

> No

dbunny🐰, [07:34]

> I mean like, he's just. Standing there. outside I mean

dbunny🐰, [07:34]

> He's talking to himself

Kills, [07:35]

> thought you were the only one who did that ngl

dbunny🐰, [07:35]

> [photo attachment]

dbunny🐰, [07:36]

> He's talking about our ball

Kills, [07:36]

> ?? you can fuckin hear him from so far away??

dbunny🐰, [07:37]

> Yeah, you're just deaf half the time

Kills, [07:37]

> fuck you

dbunny🐰, [07:38]

> Think he’s gonna go

Kills, [07:38]

> whats supposed to be at the end of that. a question mark orrrrrrr

dbunny🐰, [07:39]

> .

Kills, [07:40]

> 😊

dbunny🐰, [07:40]

> Oh no

dbunny🐰, [07:40]

> You just got an idea, didn’t you

Kills, [07:41]

> 😊

Kills, [07:41]

> @🌙moonie✨

Kills, [07:41]

> @🌙moonie✨

Kills, [07:42]

> @🌙moonie✨

🌙moonie✨, [07:43]

> why do you never wake me up like a normal person.

Kills, [07:43]

> im not normal

Kills, [07:43]

> anyway. so… how hung up on the ball theme are you

dbunny🐰, [07:44]

> I don't like this

🌙moonie✨, [07:45]

> why.

Kills, [07:45]

> so i have this great idea. youre gonna love it. but ill break the dress code

🌙moonie✨, [07:49]

> yeah sure why not. but youre picking up the outfits when they come in.

Kills, [07:51]

> deal

🌙moonie✨, [07:51]

> dbunny🐰, [07:35]
> 
> [photo attachment]

🌙moonie✨, [07:51]

> did my little stars grow attached? how cute.

🌙moonie✨, [07:51]

> i can see why though.

dbunny🐰, [07:52]

> …

dbunny🐰, [07:52]

> No comment

🌙moonie✨, [07:52]

> guess well just have to play nice, wont we.

🌙moonie✨, [07:52]

> that means you, kills.

dbunny🐰, [07:52]

> I also have an idea though

Kills, [07:53]

> dbunny🐰, [07:44]
> 
> I don't like this

Kills, [07:53]

> 🙄

Kills, [07:54]

> 🌙moonie✨, [07:52]
> 
> that means you, kills.

Kills, [07:54]

> aye aye, boss🍎

dbunny🐰, [07:57]

> Kills, [07:53]
> 
> 🙄

dbunny🐰, [07:57]

> Fuck off

Kills, [08:46]

> @dbunny🐰 im sorry

Kills, [08:51]

> whats the idea

Kills, [09:06]

> duuuuuuuuuuuuuuust

Kills, [09:07]

> @dbunny🐰

Kills, [09:17]

> @dbunny🐰

Kills, [09:27]

> @dbunny🐰

dbunny🐰, [09:31]

> Jesus fuck, you’re annoying

dbunny🐰, [09:34]

> I’m WORKING, you imbecile

Kills, [09:36]

> fuck your "work". anyways

Kills, [09:37]

> whats your idea. spill it. come on

dbunny🐰, [09:38]

> I need knives

Kills, [09:38]

> 😳😳

dbunny🐰, [09:39]

> No.

Kills, [09:39]

> aw

Kills, [09:39]

> what for

dbunny🐰, [09:40]

> …

dbunny🐰, [09:40]

> Not telling you

Kills, [09:41]

> will i get them back

dbunny🐰, [09:47]

> Probably not

Kills, [09:47]

> take the ones in the second drawer

dbunny🐰, [10:24]

> Thanks

🪓 , [13:12]

> forgot to check

Kills, [13:13]

> he didnt kill the church boy, tho!

Kills, [13:19]

> hey @🌙moonie✨

Kills, [13:20]

> [photo attachment]

🌙moonie✨, [13:37]

> hm. looks like the ball is going to be fun.


	5. plead my cause against an unfaithful nation

When the next morning came, it brought along a notification on his phone. He’d almost forgotten that he’d turned those on for all news about the city. He read through the article as he blearily wiped at his eyesockets. And his marrow ran cold.

 _‘Local man found dead in an alleyway in a string of recent disappearances,’_ it read, but he had to re-read it three times before it truly sank in.

Any leftover traces of sleep clinging to him were immediately gone and he couldn’t get his uniform on fast enough. 

He was surprised the alleyway where they’d discovered the body wasn’t taped off, or even being watched over. There were leftovers from the time that the police _had_ been there, though; a white paint to outline the shape of the body, running up the wall to paint a picture of a slumped, lifeless body in Cross’ mind, and a couple more to outline the starkly red splatters of blood all around.

There wasn’t much more, except the stench of demonic energy, acrid and heavy. Now that he thought about it, the presence in the air had shifted again. Where yesterday, it had felt angry, sharp and biting and glaring at him all day, now it felt more… amused, almost?

Was it toying with him? Maybe the demon was watching him.

But the one he felt here was more familiar. He followed it like an invisible string, all the way towards a dumpster behind the corner. For a moment, he was worried he’d have to dive into it to find whatever it was calling out to him, but then he caught a glint of something metal underneath it.

He leaned down to pull it out. It turned out to be another butterfly knife, nigh identical to the one in his pocket, but seafoam in color.

Killer’s energy clung to it just the same as to the other one. It was open, blade sharpened to a paper thin width, and it had something scratched onto the side, as if with a claw. ‘ _Find me.’_

Cross closed it and shoved the weapon into his pocket to clink against the one already there. He was pissed now, because he let himself believe, even for a second, in Killer’s talk of _playing nice._ Well, alright then. Cross didn’t have a way of tracking _him_ , not fast enough, but he _did_ know where Horror would be.

It was also an opportunity to get breakfast, considering he had skipped last night’s dinner.

Streets passed him one by one with his brisk pace, and soon enough, he stood before Horror’s cafe. The little bell chimed to signal his entrance and Cross was enveloped by the smell of coffee again. Despite not liking the beverage, he had to admit it was a nice smell. And, a little more regrettably, that it helped calm him down, just a bit. He hadn’t even realized his SOUL had started pounding wildly, to the tempo of his rage.

Horror looked up from where he’d been wiping the counter. “Oh, cotton candy,” he said, his teeth curling up, “Didn’t expect you… to come back so soon.”

“Cotton candy?” Cross echoed, because he didn’t have any other reply to that, his skull dusting itself with purple. He took an empty chair to slide to the counter, as if it were the most natural thing.

“Fluffy,” was all Horror offered as an explanation. He set the little rag off to the side. “Want chocolate…?”

Cross nodded, turning towards the display case to his right. “And a cake, please,” he said, eyeing a slice of something equally chocolate-y. Horror followed his line of sight and his smile softened a touch. He had fangs the size of Cross’ entire finger, that could probably tear through his bones like knives through butter, but it still somehow ended up not looking unnerving. It… probably should’ve been.

While Horror prepared him the chocolate, Cross pulled out the knife and flicked it open (on the third try). A phalanx traced along the scratched words, little pinpricks of magic sparking between them like electricity.

A plate was placed in front of him, making him jump with the noise. Cross’ tongue conjured itself on its own volition at the sight. Horror had drizzled chocolate syrup over the cake in messy stripes. He wouldn’t be getting many points for the execution, but the sentiment more than made up for it.

“What do I owe you?” Cross asked, pulling his wallet out. Yesterday, Killer had simply told him to leave it to him, so he had.

Horror looked down at him with an unreadable expression for a second, and then shook his head. “It’s… on the house.”

Cross froze with his hand in his wallet, coins jingling against one another. “What? Really?"

Instead of an answer, Horror pointed to a little sign placed atop the desserts case, but he was obviously fighting back a smile. _‘Monsters eat on the house,_ ’ the sign read when Cross looked over at it.

Now that he thought about it, the café was filled with monsters, their chatter a polite white noise. An elderly human lady sat alone by the window, and that was it. 

A minute of mental gymnastics connected Horror to Killer, Killer to Nightmare, and Nightmare to doing charity for monsters. He wasn’t sure how Killer fit into the equation, being a demon, but Cross rubbed over the flat of the knife again as he thought about it.

Horror watched him, tilting his head to the side the barest amount. “Killer’s butterfly… why do you have it?” he asked, sliding the glass over much more carefully than he’d set the plate down. Cross absently stirred the milk as he held the knife up against the overhead lamp.

“So it _is_ Killer’s,” he muttered back, watching the blade glint as he twisted it left and right.

Horror leaned against the counter, nodding. “Course… he has lots of ‘em… whole rainbow. Knows this trick…” He fell silent for a moment, like he was looking for the right words. “Makes the blade look… Hm. He could show you… would be better.”

“I bet it would,” Cross hummed, “Where is he?”

“...at work.”

“I see. Thank you, Horror.”

His words earned him another soft smile.

The hot chocolate and the cake turned out to be delicious, and Cross thanked Horror once more before he left the cafe. He wouldn’t be caught slacking off again. With that thought in mind, Cross took to the shadows.

One would think his white clothes would make him stand out like a sore thumb, but that wasn’t necessarily the truth. Years of training had taught him how to keep himself hidden, well enough that when Killer eventually did show up, the sun already setting over the horizon, he didn’t notice Cross’ eyelights following every single one of his movements.

He went inside and came out with a takeout cup not five minutes later. Cross followed him as he set off somewhere, deeper into the city. Much to Cross’ surprise — and confusion — he stopped by a bridal salon. Cross frowned at the dresses in the vitrine, but it was also only a handful minutes before Killer was coming out, looking like a Gyftmas tree, with clothes wrapped in plastic hooked on his humeri and no less than three bags in each hand. He still somehow managed to hold the takeout cup.

Was he really running _errands_ , of all things?

Cross follows him through the city, all the way to what could have only been Nightmare’s mansion. The building was painted black, looking straight out of an episode of the Addams family. A lush garden spread around it, trimmed hedges and strips of colorful flowers framing a cobbled walkway. It was all encircled by a tall fence, pointed steel to complement the darkness of the building.

Killer had gone up to the gate and simply teleported through it, not bothering with the lock. He disappeared into the house; though Cross hung around for hours afterwards, he didn’t come back out again. The air around grew colder with the loss of sunlight and, a little dejected, Cross returned to the hotel with a box of takeout.

The next day felt like a Deja vu. Another article about a dead human, and another butterfly knife left for him to find bearing Killer’s scent. This one said, ‘if you can,’ as if he was being taunted. He spent the entire day staking out Horror’s cafe, but save for the barista throwing out a pair of humans, followed by the cleaver being embedded in the wall of the opposite building, nothing happened. (Cross had to admit that Horror’s aim was impeccable, considering he’d thrown the blade through a door that had been closing itself.) No sign of Killer anywhere all day.

And then the next day there were two victims, and Cross was horrified to find it’d been the pair of humans Horror had thrown out of his café. He gripped the new butterfly knife, red as blood that had greeted him at the crime scene.

_‘Red herring :)’_

The little smiley face engraved next to the words was simply infuriating. He wasn’t sure why he kept bringing it out to look at it; maybe to stoke his fury, or maybe to hurt himself further with the fact that four people had died since he’d come to the city.

He sat at the counter of Horror’s café, idly playing with the glass of chocolate he’d been handed. The barista kept throwing looks his way, too, even as he prepared orders for what seemed to be his regulars. A little sandwich was placed before him, complete with a toothpick stuck at its top, little seafoam flag glued to it. It reminded Cross of the other knife he was carrying. He’d never thought he’d be carrying a physical knife around when he could summon magical ones instead, much less three of them.

“Eat,” Horror told him, firmly. “...look hungry.”

Cross forced down the flush that threatened to rise to his cheekbones. Instead, he looked up at Horror, staring straight into his slitted eye. “Two people died last night,” he said, flat.

Horror’s impassive look remained. “Is that so.”

“You don’t see surprised,” he remarked, before taking a bite of the sandwich. It was good, had tuna on it.

“People die here.”

Cross pulled the article up on his phone. “You wouldn’t happen to know them, would you?” He angled the screen so Horror could see the photos attached.

The bigger skeleton looked down, blinked slowly, but otherwise didn’t react. “Got exactly what they deserved.”

“Is that so,” Cross echoed the previous words back at him. Horror simply shrugged. His nonchalance struck Cross as positively suspicious. He drank what remained of his chocolate and pulled the three engraved knives out of his pockets to place them onto the polished counter. “Give these back to Killer for me, please.”

Horror raised a browbone at the gesture, like there was something Cross wasn’t privy to. He put the blades into the pocket of his apron nonetheless. “Killer wasn’t the one who… who gave these to you. But okay.”

Cross took the sandwich with him, vehemently marching out so his confusion wouldn’t be noticed. He didn’t know if Horror was also toying with him, or if the knives — bearing _Killer’s_ scent — really _were_ a red herring, like the last one implied. If that were the case, who would have had access to Killer’s stash of weapons? Horror, probably, given that he seemed to be dating the demon. Or, alternatively, Nightmare. Killer _had_ gone to the mansion last night, and, if Father Julian’s words could be trusted even that much, he seemed to be tied to the millionaire in one way or another.

The upcoming ball seemed to be becoming more and more like a viable option of getting to the bottom of this. And he only had tonight and tomorrow to put his mask together.

He had a feeling it’d be a disaster, for some reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is..........................  
> .........................................................................(ball)


	6. it will be established forever like the moon, the faithful witness in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BALL! BALL BALL BALL!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> okay, i have stuff to say this time, haha. First off, please note the change in rating. You may skip the sex scene, but it will be referenced. Once Bunny unlocks the bedroom doors, you can search for "I hope that was good enough for a thanks." and keep going there. Secondly, this one's long. It's So long. I didn't joke about the ball. I don't joke about the ball. Ever. And I'd like everyone to take it for the treat it is and please not expect it for future chapters. This one's.... Special.  
> And lastly, there is... SO much crammed in here. There's references up the wazoo, cameos, implications, foreshadowing. I really hope you guys have fun looking for any and all of them!!! Happy Valentine's day!!
> 
> There is also an illustration, done by my wonderful wife, @reclawedcat on twitter (18+). He also drew and helped design everyone's costumes, and you can see those [HERE](https://twitter.com/reclawedcat/status/1360997722329804800)

Cross ran a phalanx over a feather as he held it still, waiting for the glue to dry. It came away coated in glitter.

He’d been gluing the fake feathers to the mask for the better part of the last hour; they looked a little crooked, but nothing more of them wouldn’t fix.

The finished mask wasn’t anything to write home about, mostly because he’d never been the crafty type. Crown would have laughed if he could see the spray painted half-mask coated in shimmering glitter. He’d gone ahead and glued a fake, yellow gem to the centre, too. The yellow-red feathers he’d lined it with looked more like flames than anything, but he supposed that worked for the celestial body he’d chosen.

He fidgeted in front of the bathroom mirror when he put it on, scrutinizing his reflection. The white suit looked nice, and he'd borrowed an iron from the reception to get rid of any wrinkles.

The buttons on the tailcoat had little suns encircling them, and the mask looked... adequate.

He still felt silly, sure somebody would laugh at him, but he felt just a smidgen better when he wrapped his scarf around his neck. Its embroidered crosses offset the motif somehow, but he didn't care all that much. It made him feel more like himself.

Earlier in the day, he'd found a golden envelope slid underneath his room's door. When he'd looked around the hallway, there was no one to be seen, though, and the receptionist said no one but guests had entered or left the hotel. So he'd cautiously opened the envelope, his name in black cursive on the front of the glittery paper, only to find a piece of cardboard stock inside.

It was an invitation. Written in the same flowing cursive, it cordially invited him to the ball as a special guest. He didn't know what being a 'special guest' warranted, but the invitation was signed by Killer, of all people.

It didn't take a genius to know that no other part aside from the signature was made by Killer, because it looked like chicken scratch, but there were no other identifying markers, not on the cardstock nor the envelope. Cross clutched it in his hand as he made his way towards the mansion.

He was awestruck by the sheer amount of cars — and, more surprisingly, though it probably shouldn't have been, limousines — parked along the long winding street. The tall gates were wide open, and he could hear the laughter and loud voices before he even came close enough to see just how many people were gathered there. There was also the press, photographers snapping pictures of the lantern-lit gardens, of the mansion, of the party-goers.

Though the gates were opened, a red velvet rope kept out a line of humans and monsters alike. But it wasn't red, it was purple, a touch he was finding on many of the decorations wherever he looked. A pair of skeletal bouncers (Cross was sure they probably had a fancier title, but he couldn't think of one) guarded it, taking out entrance fees.

Cross aimed to take his spot at the back of the line, never one to cut, but the taller of the two stopped him. Cross' marrow ran cold; the dude was imposing, definitely a good fit for a bouncer with his height, jagged teeth and red eyelights. Not even the well-pressed purple tuxedo could detract from it. He inclined his head towards the invitation Cross was still gripping like his life depended on it.

"There's no need to wait," he said. His voice was scratchy and high, but surprisingly polite. "Special guests are free to come and go as they please. May I see your invitation?"

Cross handed the card over to be scrutinized, a long, clawed phalange running over Killer's signature. He was probably testing the magical signature tied to it. And whatever he found, he seemed pleased with. He handed it back with a nod.

"Please come in," he said, unhooking the rope for Cross to step through.

"T-Thank you," Cross said, nodding minutely back. This had not been the welcome he'd expected, and he could feel the stares of people in the line boring into his back. He fought the instinct to hunch up on himself.

Instead he followed the cobblestone way up to the main doors, equally as wide open. Everyone around him wore elaborate costumes, long and flowing dresses, trailing waistcoats and completely garish masks, and somehow it all worked.

Cross stopped at the threshold of the mansion, as if bound by a spell. The foyer was a giant ballroom, polished tiles of black and gold reflecting the light from an elaborate candelabra hanging from the ceiling. He couldn’t stop a small gasp from leaving him at the sight; the ceiling itself was black, with a starry sky painted on it in glittering golds and silvers. It almost looked like the real one outside, sans the moon high on the horizon.

Tapestries in royal shades of purple hung between the tall, ornate windows lining the room. They reminded Cross of frames meant for elaborate paintings, despite them only housing colored panels of glass. ‘Only’ being an understatement, probably — they were all stained glass depictions of something abstract, art that eluded him on such a cursory glance. The tapestries too, depicted art, scenes of flora with an apple tree always in the centre, embroidered in golden thread. Cross was sure each of them must’ve taken exceptional work and patience to create.

There was a double staircase winding on either side of a fountain on the back wall, some winged creature pouring water out of a jug, and they led to the second layer of the foyer, though he couldn’t see what exactly was up there. Purple carpets lined the middle of each staircase, the elaborately carved railings covered in floral arrangements that were golden and glittered each time the lights and shadows hit them differently. They also reminded Cross of the stars, despite truly being lilies and tulips and other flowers which he, with his limited knowledge of such things, couldn’t place.

His eyelights fell on the floor proper, then, lined with long tables covered in purple and golden cloths, set with more food than he’d ever seen in one place. He thought he saw a whole roasted pig, until a steward walked in front of it and stole his attention. They were carrying two platters of glasses, filled with what was probably wine, or maybe champagne, since he could see it fizzing. There were so many of them coming to and from, weaving between the guests with expert ease, the only thing separating them from the other ball-goers being the uniform — a deep purple tuxedo and the same masks, a simple, silver crescent moon shape to cover the eyes alone.

Cross was sure he’d never seen something so extravagant, maybe save for some cathedrals, but it didn’t feel right to compare those to… well, this.

Someone bumped into him and broke him out of his awed stupor. He stumbled a step and apologized on instinct. A pair of humans chuckled at him, sidestepping.

“First time, huh?” one of them, a woman in a red mask, asked, “You get used to it.”

Cross nodded numbly, even though he was sure he never _would_. He rushed inside, not wanting anymore faux paus (or whatever other fancy words the rich people called blunders) to happen. He didn’t make it two steps before he paused again, however, but this time for a completely different reason.

The demonic presence he’d felt throughout the city felt like it was suffocating the ballroom, strong and heavy and excited. Without a shadow of a doubt, Cross was sure the demon was present, and it filled him with equal parts relief and anxiety. Finally, he was getting somewhere. And it only took four more victims.

He balled his hands into fists, but before he could keep going down a mental spiral, someone touched his shoulder and spun him around.

“Look who decided to join us!”

He could place that teasing, deep tone anywhere. Killer beamed at him from beneath an X-shaped mask, red on the edges of the white plastic. He wore a dark coat with fur lining, an equally dark shirt underneath it. Cross had to avert his gaze at how deep the V-neck of it went, even as the rosary pendant dangling from his neck pulled his attention.

He was giving Cross an equal scrutiny; Cross could feel his gaze roving over him despite there not being any eyelights to show him. 

“...sun boy.” He sounded almost appreciative and yet Cross couldn’t help feeling a bit self-conscious of his costume.

“Yes, well, what are you supposed to be?” he snipped, folding his arms over his chest.

Killer’s grin widened, the sight of his sharp canines sending a shiver through Cross. “Why, I got special permission to break the dress code,” he boasted, twirling around in a circle and making his coat billow behind him. Like he was showing off. “I’m sure you can guess what I am, little sun. Come on.”

A major nuisance, Cross wanted to say. But that would’ve been rude, so he didn’t. Instead, he simply narrowed his sockets.

“Hmm, you’re right. Something’s still missing,” Killer said, taking Cross’ silence as confusion. Though how he did that, with the way Cross was glaring at him, was beyond him. He yelped when Killer reached out again, phalanges curling into the fabric of his scarf. With just a couple steps, Killer made a full circle around him, taking the scarf along with him.

"What'd you think?" he asked, curling it around his own neck. "Pretty good, isn't it? I'm an... X-orcist." He punctuated the word with a hand flourish, pointing at the mask covering his face.

Cross scoffed, offended and, admittedly, more than a little peeved off. Definitely a fucking nuisance. He was sure he'd planned this, a deliberate way to get under Cross' skin. Too bad he didn't have any.

And his uniform also didn't have that much fur.

"That's stu—"

"Hold that thought, little sun," Killer cut him off. A hush had befallen the ballroom, now that Cross looked around, and everyone was looking at the second level as if waiting for something. "I'll catch you on the dance floor!"

Cross just barely turned back in time to see Killer's teasing hand wave, and then he was gone in a blink of a socket. Along with Cross' scarf.

Cross swore under his breath, feeling exposed and unlike himself without it, but he forced the feeling down, as much as he could. He returned his gaze to the railing above the fountain, when a slow set of claps resounded throughout the room. A figure stepped up to the railing, and Cross held his breath.

It was Nightmare.

Cross could tell him apart anywhere, though that was probably because he was such a unique monster, a skeleton covered in pitch black slime. There was a golden crescent moon covering the right side of his face, trailing a sheer veil that curled over his shoulder to disappear behind his back. Cross had to do a double take when he noticed the shifting wings, sure that he'd only seen him with skeletal structures in the photos. But it was simply more sheer fabric, embroidered with golden stars and lined with little teardrop-shaped pendants along the bottom edge.

"Good evening, my esteemed guests!" he said, voice carrying into each nook and cranny of the large space. The acoustics were probably thought up that way, for just such occasions. "I would like to, first and foremost, thank you for attending this ball! Now, let us not forget the main reason for it. The charity auction will be starting at midnight, in the eastern foyer. Do not hesitate to ask a steward for directions should you need them. This year, we will be auctioning off costumes. Mine, as well as those of these lovely boys.”

Cross blinked. He’d been so focused on Nightmare himself that he didn’t notice the three other skeletons stepping up to him. A short, red-clad one on his left, and a tall one on his right. And, yep, there was Killer. Sticking out like a sore thumb. Cross could feel his gaze as he elbowed the taller skeleton and whispered something to him. Unlike Nightmare’s words, none of Killer’s carried past the railing.

“I’m sure you will have plenty of opportunities to take a closer look at each one to pick one that you fancy. Or maybe multiple. Now then, with that out of the way,” he called, clapping once. “Let us start the merriment in earnest!”

An orchestra started playing a song, from somewhere up there as well, and the quiet that’d befallen the ballroom fell off, conversations returning at full force. Cross watched as all four of them descended the stairs, Nightmare holding the hand of the red-clad one as he tried not to trip over his dress.

Killer, as was usual for him, was the most obnoxious one, tugging the tall skeleton behind himself as he made his way back towards Cross. Cross debated how much attention he’d garner if he were to yank his scarf off of him, but the thought was short-lived.

“Go get ‘im, big guy,” was all Cross heard before the tall skeleton was pushed his direction, almost stumbling. He looked sheepish, flaming cheekbones hidden by a black half-mask. From behind it, a single eye peered at Cross, and he blinked.

“Ho—” 

Horror — for it could be no one else — placed a phalanx at his mouth, to shush him, a tentative smile on his teeth. “Little sun,” he greeted, “don’t ruin the magic. It’s… it’s a masquerade.”

Cross nodded and Horror took his finger away. So that’s why Killer had taken to calling him ‘little sun.’ And Horror too, from the looks of it.

“Uh… could I have the first dance?”

Cross simply blinked at him. “I— I don’t really know… how to?”

Horror chuckled, even though he looked just as flustered as Cross felt. “I’m not good… either. It’s fine.”

Cross swallowed dryly, to force down the lump in his non-conjured throat. He’d been offered a hand and he finally took it, placing his in the much bigger one. Horror’s phalanges squeezed once, as if to reassure him, and Cross was loath to admit it worked. They moved to the side of the dancefloor, where there weren’t many people, much to his delight. Horror placed his other hand onto Cross’ hip and started swaying them, nothing more than simple rocking from side to side.

From this close up, Cross could fully admire Horror’s costume. What he’d thought were fake flowers turned out to be real, Cross almost recoiling when his phalanges brushed against them. There had to be thousands of them, woven together into a crown that covered his whole skull, more of them coating his entire right arm, curling in a line over his back to drape over his other shoulder. With the white toga-like almost-dress, he looked nothing less than an ancient deity. Cross was awestruck, and it must’ve shown on his face, because Horror chuckled, inclining his head to let him see even more of them.

“Do you like them?” he asked, “They’re… they’re called moonflowers.”

Cross flushed at being caught staring, but he couldn’t lie; the whole setup was stunning.

“You look great,” Cross told him, honestly. It earned him a beaming smile, Horror’s happiness almost tangible between them.

“You don’t… look bad… Um… you look great. Too.”

The anxiety was slowly but surely falling off of him the longer he simply swayed in place with the other skeleton. It wasn’t dancing, not by a long shot, not like the other people sprinkled around the floor, and they were barely even moving to the tempo of the slow song, but that didn’t matter.

Horror started to turn them with each sway, until they were making the smallest circles known to monsterkind. It was more than enough to trip Cross up, and he accidentally stepped onto Horror’s sandaled foot.

“I’m sorry!” he squeaked, but Horror just shook his head, more amused than anything.

“It’s okay, little sun. It’s kinda nice… not being the… clumsiest.”

Cross sputtered, but before he could retort, a pair of dancers made their way up to them — Killer, with the red-clad skeleton. He couldn’t help thinking how choreographed everything seemed, like they were all just stringing him on since the moment he’d come.

“Fancy meeting you here, my dearest moonflower,” Killer grinned, wrenching his hand between Cross’ and Horror’s, to pull it away. Cross averted his gaze as Killer brought the hand up to his mouth and left a kiss on the back of it, Horror humoring him with an amused twinkle in his eye.

“You always know… just when to butt in,” he sighed, folding his arms over his chest. Somehow, it didn’t crush the flower sleeve.

Cross caught the other skeleton’s gaze. He was shorter by a couple inches, face covered by a crimson mask as well as a sheer veil, eyelights equally crimson behind them. There was a single purple pupil, but what caught Cross’ attention was the dress he wore. He’d never seen one like it before, strapless and hugging the ribcage. It started off translucent, leaving all his ivory ribs on display, much to Cross’ embarrassment, and faded into the selfsame crimson as the mask as it went down. He also had a long red scarf, wrapped around himself, thrown over each elbow.

It was shameless and yet somehow so regal. Cross almost missed Killer’s next words.

“Well, I sure hope I didn’t _interrupt_ anything. I simply wanted to swap partners.”

Horror rolled his eye and took the red-clad skeleton by the hand. “Looking forward to… another dance, little sun,” he said Cross’ way as they moved away. The small skeleton waved with a hand, fingers fluttering. And then it was just Cross and Killer, alone again.

Cross huffed, a hand on his hip. “Did you make it your mission to ruin my night, or should I pretend to believe it's an accident? I was having fun, for your information,” he said, not sure how well he was keeping his irritation out of his voice.

“Aw, someone’s grumpy,” Killer taunted, taking Cross’ hand and pulling him towards the wall. “I have just the thing that’ll help. Here, try these, they’re my favorite.”

Killer stopped them by one of the tables, piled high with desserts. He plucked a little tart off a tray and held it up to Cross’ mouth. It was topped with an array of fruits and Cross had to concede it was good when he took a tentative bite. Killer’s grin was entirely too smug, and he wanted to wipe it off his skull. Maybe wipe the entire skull off of him while he was at it, too. He didn’t say a word, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right, but the demon seemed to just know.

He flagged down a steward to take two glasses of the champagne, but the short monster stopped him, pulling the tray away to present the other one they held.

“My apologies, sir. Those are human beverages.”

Killer laughed and plucked a pair of the correct glasses, handing one over to Cross. “That would’ve been quite the scene, I imagine,” he laughed more, before taking a sip. Cross couldn’t spot a single difference between the glasses, nor their content. “Not that Moonie doesn’t have bathrooms here. Hey, do let me know if the steward was wrong, it’ll be a good show.”

“You are absolutely disgusting,” Cross deadpanned, just the mental image making him want to throw the glass as far as he could, but the impulse was nowhere near strong enough to overpower the desperation to get at least a little buzzed so he could deal with the demon easier.

The drink was indeed fizzy, and sour enough to make his face scrunch up. He drank the entire thing in one go and took another glass to down as well. Killer laughed at him, but he didn’t care.

“Feeling a bit better?” he asked, reaching out to grab one of the ribbons trailing from the sides of Cross’ mask. “How about a dance, then?”

Cross had an inkling of a feeling that his answer didn’t really matter, at least not this time. He let Killer pull him towards the centre of the room, if only so he could step on his toes a couple times. He almost looked forward to it.

Killer stood out like a sore, monochrome, toe in a sea of colorful dancers, but Cross pointedly didn’t let himself look around. He was sure he’d heard the shutters of cameras throughout the room; he could only hope none of them would be pointed his way. At all. 

Killer listened in until the band switched songs, violins striking a beat, to place his hand onto Cross’ hip and start moving. True to his own expectations, Cross had no idea how to move with him, and they blundered their way through a couple almost-circles.

“You’re awful,” the demon laughed, pulling them in one direction when Cross expected them to go the other. “Who taught you to dance?”

“No one,” Cross said simply, raising his foot only to slam it down onto Killer’s. He hadn’t counted on being deliberate in his toe-crushing, but whatever. It was very effective at wiping the grin off the demon’s skull.

Killer hissed, pulling them flush together, and muttered through grit teeth, “Yeah, it shows. Are you this fierce in bed, too?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”

Killer started moving in circles again, trying to telegraph his movements with wide slides of his feet. Cross was inwardly glad for it; at least he wasn’t blundering his way through a weak facsimile of a waltz anymore. It was starting to almost look like something practiced. Almost.

“Never say never,” Killer said. Cross’ glare was quick to shut him up again. In the relative silence, it was easy to enjoy the motions, the sway of them, and even the possessiveness of the grip Killer had on him.

A little more sure of the steps, Cross let himself look around. They had ended up nigh-right under the candelabra, Horror and the other skeleton next to them, simply swaying the same way Cross had with the bigger skeleton before. They looked kind of serene, sockets only for each other. Well, that wasn’t quite true — Cross caught the red-clad skeleton glancing his way on more than one occasion.

He also spotted Nightmare, standing by the fountain and conversing with someone in a blindingly golden tuxedo that hurt to look at for too long. Though Nightmare was nodding along and replying, his eyelight was trained on Cross, of all people. He would’ve thought he was looking at Killer instead, if their gazes hadn’t met for a brief second. It made Cross shudder and scramble to look away.

Killer caught him looking around, though, and laughed again. As much as the sound irritated him, Cross was horrified to find himself getting used to it.

“Bored of me already?” the demon quipped. Cross expected him to sound angry, but there was nothing but an edge of amusement to his voice. Once again, it felt like he’d expected everything Cross did. He didn’t even give him time to reply, nevermind that Cross didn’t even know what he could’ve said to that. “That’s fine. There’re others who want your time tonight, little sun.”

“Talking about me behind my back again? How rude of you,” came a voice from behind Cross. He pulled away from Killer and turned around to see who it was, as fast as he thought wouldn’t look suspicious. It was the small skeleton, phalanges playing with one end of the red scarf. It reminded Cross of the fact that Killer still had his scarf. He yet again resisted the urge to yank it back.

Killer feigned hurt, a hand to his chest. “Me? Never.”

The other scoffed, rolling his eyelights. “ _And_ lying to me? My, my, what would Nightmare say if I told him?”

“You’re not telling him.”

The smaller skeleton let go of the scarf, letting it fall back to his side. “No, I suppose I’m not. Now, let’s get the pleasantries over with already. May I steal your partner for a score or two?”

Killer shrugged. “Suit yourself. But be careful of your feet, dear.”

“I’ll manage.” He offered Cross his hand, palm down, and it took him a moment to realize he was supposed to take it. “Shall we, little sun?”

“Catch you later, church boy,” Killer threw over his shoulder. He was heading towards the fountain, where Horror was already keeping Nightmare company.

The small skeleton placed a hand onto Cross’ shoulder, pulling his attention back. It occurred to him that he was expected to lead the dance, and that he hadn’t the slightest idea how. It didn’t seem to matter; they fell into step, Cross trying his best to match the other.

“I apologize for my partners. They can be… quite infernal.” There was a sly smirk on the other’s teeth, like he’d just told the world’s funniest joke. “Hope they didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“Ah, no… it’s alright,” Cross stammered. “Um… I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure yet?”

The skeleton chuckled, tilting his head a smidgen. “Hadn’t we? Well, tonight, I am the blood moon. But all my partners call me Bunny.”

Cross blinked, missing a step. He felt himself step onto the other’s foot, but there was no reaction, save a little adjustment of stance.

“You, too, can call me Bunny, little sun."

Bunny took his hand off of Cross’ shoulder and twirled in place, their joined arms winding around him as he ended up with his back flush against Cross’ chest. As soon as Cross even realized it, he was twisting again, unwrapping himself to end up back where they’d begun.

Cross swallowed thickly. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he asked, Killer’s words replaying in his mind like he was listening to them live. “You’re the one who told Killer I’d be coming.”

Bunny hummed, that lopsided smirk still on his teeth. It was very similar to Killer’s, but without the same edge. “Maybe I did.”

“How?” Cross all but exhaled. “How did you know?”

That smirk widened into a proper grin. Bunny’s eyelights were sparkling behind the red veil. “Keep holding me like this and I might tell you.”

Like a command, Cross’ hand tightened where it rested on the other’s hipbone. He could almost feel the blush rising to his skull when Bunny melted against him a little.

Cross couldn’t stop his gaze from slipping down, time and again. He wasn’t used to seeing a ribcage on such shameless display.

“Like what you see, little sun?” Bunny asked, a mirthful edge to his chuckle, “I could fill it out for you.”

Cross sputtered, a flush rising to his cheekbones that he desperately hoped his mask could hide. That didn’t seem to be the case, if the way Bunny’s laughter went up an octave was anything to go by.

He wasn’t teased further, even as Bunny tightened his hold on his hand and twirled it around himself in a graceful set of turns. Cross was sure he’d just stepped on his foot again, but again, there was no word of protest, not even a change to Bunny’s smiling face.

The red scarf trailed behind with all the movements, somehow not tangling, and Cross tried to focus on that. Or the way Bunny’s veil did the same, swaying back and forth between them. Anything aside the ivory of the ribs beneath the translucent part of the dress.

He had to admit he couldn’t stop thinking about it, though, now that the idea was there, in his mind. Would the ecto be as crimson as the rest of the dress if Bunny summoned it? Would it blend in, only visible from close up?

_As close as Cross was right now?_

If Bunny was privy to what Cross was just considering, he didn’t show it. They twirled to the beat of the band. At one point, he urged both of Cross’ hands to his iliac crests. On the second set of the steps, Cross finally understood he was supposed to lift him. He did so, warily, and Bunny laughed breathlessly, falling back in step once his feet touched the tiles again.

“Not bad for someone who doesn’t know how to dance,” Bunny praised, much to Cross’ embarrassment. “Think I’ve had enough waltzing, though.”

Silently, Cross was glad to hear that. His own legs hurt from all the moving, unused to this type of exercise. Hours of training he could stand, but an hour or so of dancing got the best of him. How ironic. “Do you have something in mind?”

One corner of Bunny’s teeth quirked up. “Yes, yes I think I do. Let’s grab a drink first, I’m parched.”

Obediently, Cross followed towards the nearest refreshment table. Bunny grabbed one of the glasses from a passing steward, lifting his veil just enough to expose his mouth. Cross took one as well; he wasn’t feeling any effects from the two he’d had, so it must not have been that strong. He downed it in one go, barely tasting the sourness as it transformed into magic.

The moment he placed the glass down, Bunny was in his personal space, a hand on Cross’ sternum. He peered up through his mask, sockets half-lidded. A phalanx trailed nonsensical patterns over his yellow tie.

“Hey, little sun…” Bunny drawled, quietly. Cross had an idea where this was going, throat going dry once again. “It’s a bit loud in here. Would you mind escorting me to one of the rooms upstairs?”

Cross swallowed and then nodded. “Sure.”

Bunny beamed at him, bright and wide. He wasted no time, grasping Cross’ hand and tugging. They wove through the dancefloor, up the spiraling staircase, and Cross got his first look at the upper level. The band was there, set up on either side of a french door that seemed to lead to a balcony. Bunny tok a sharp left, and that was all the time Cross had to take the sight in.

They were walking down a long hallway, their feet silent on the plush carpet. It was lined with more tapestries, more shows of wealth that left Cross reeling. They all looked like they were embroidered with genuine golden thread, and Cross marvelled at how nonchalantly Bunny just walked right past each one, not even sparing them a glance.

They stopped by one of the countless doors, tall and dark. Bunny procured a key from… somewhere, grin sharp enough to cut as he unlocked it. Or maybe that was simply shadows from the magical braziers playing trick with Cross’ sockets.

Bunny pulled him into the bedroom, flicking the lights on as he went. It was surprisingly simple, even if the king-sized bed was covered in elaborate covers and had an ungodly amount of pillows on it.

“Many thanks for escorting me,” Bunny said, winding Cross’ tie around a phalanx. It also had the added effect of pulling his head down to where they were so close that he could feel the veil tickling his nasal bridge. “I should thank you properly, hm?”

Cross could only watch with wide sockets as Bunny brought a hand up to his face and moved the veil out of the way. Their teeth met softly, barely a brush before he was pressing closer, pushing Cross into the door with deceptive strength. Cross found his tongue had conjured itself when Bunny’s swiped over his teeth and he parted them, letting the other explore to his content.

He let out a moan that had Cross gasping, deep and guttural. And then Bunny’s hands were around Cross’ neck, holding him as close as physically possible. Cross tangled their tongues together, enjoying the taste of the champagne much more when it was in the other’s mouth.

He blinked his sockets open, unsure when he’d even let them slip shut, only to find Bunny staring right back at him, a flush high on his cheekbones, spreading under his mask.

With a single step, so similar to all the ones he’d done on the dancefloor, Bunny flipped their positions, pulling Cross flush to himself and effectively trapping himself against the door. Cross gripped his hips on instinct, and found himself holding onto plush ecto-flesh instead of bone. His gaze slipped down — the sheer part of Bunny’s dress was no longer as see-through as before. Under the fabric, under his ribs, there was brilliant lilac shining through.

“Surprised?” Bunny asked, hooking a leg around Cross’ waist. There was a hardness pressing into the bone of Cross’ pelvis. “Not disappointed, I hope.”

Cross shook his head, reaching out and running his phalanges over Bunny’s ribcage, bone and ecto both. “You’re beautiful,” he sighed. The flush adorning Bunny’s cheekbones brightened, so much so it was almost glowing.

“Flattery will get you anywhere,” Bunny laughed, hips rocking into Cross’ at the next pass over a rib.

“I think the only place I’d like to be right now is inside you,” Cross replied. And then he caught himself, frantically adding, “I-If you’d like!”

Bunny’s laughter simply reached a higher octave. Cross was finding it to be a very endearing quirk. He lifted the hem of his dress with a little difficulty. The red fabric revealed his cock, as well as an entrance that was soaking wet.

“Is that enough of an answer for you?” he teased. Cross was ashamed to say that was all it took for his own magic to manifest, straining against his pants. “Make sure to cum inside, little sun. Can’t have you staining the dress before the auction. Unless you intend to buy it, that is.”

Cross swore, the shameless words getting to him more than he’d admit. He fumbled with his own pants for a moment as Bunny watched him, gaze hungry in its intensity. Cross almost moaned when he’d freed his cock, Bunny’s eyelights slipping down, expression turning appreciative.

“What a coincidence,” he chuckled, reaching down to wrap his hand around it. It was only a few shades off of his own, what a coincidence indeed. Cross groaned as he was stroked, Bunny’s fingers barely encircling the thicker base. He couldn’t help but buck into the touches.

Cross tried to return the favor, reaching down between them to get the smaller skeleton prepared, but instead, Bunny let go of him — much to his dismay — and smacked his hand away.

“Very sweet of you to be so considerate, but I’m so wet it’d just be a waste of time,” he said, sounding completely assured of himself.

“Are you sure?” Cross asked, just to double check.

Bunny’s leg, still hooked around his hip, tightened. “If you don’t ram that nice cock into me in ten seconds, I’m gonna dust.”

Cross gulped. Message received, loud and clear.

He steadied a hand onto the plush pseudo-flesh of Bunny’s side and guided his cock towards his entrance. Bunny had been right; he was positively soaked and Cross sunk into him with no resistance whatsoever. The sound it made was as lewd as it got, but not as downright filthy as the moan Bunny let out, drawn out and loud.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. Cross wanted to kiss him, swallow the filthy sounds as they left him, but he didn’t have a hand to spare to move the veil out of the way. Instead, he gripped his side with bruising strength, the other hand holding the dress up by his ribcage where it — hopefully — wouldn’t get dirty.

Bunny’s walls were slick and hot, holding him tight like a velvety vice. Cross had intended to give him a minute to get used to the stretch, but the other skeleton was having none of it, squirming as he clawed at the door behind himself. 

“C’mon, little sun, move,” he demanded, effectively breaking the last little bit of self-control that Cross still possessed.

His hips snapped forward, burying his whole length into the welcoming heat. Bunny rewarded him with another moan, trying to move along to the best of his abilities. It didn’t do much, but the sight alone was enough to get Cross’ marrow to boil. He set a hard pace, each thrust pulling more and more noises out of the smaller skeleton. Cross felt like he could get drunk on those sounds alone; they sounded so good punctuated by his own cries and grunts.

Bunny fisted his own cock, covering the head, as if to make sure he wouldn’t soil the no doubt expensive dress. Cross’ pace stuttered as he clamped down on him, sliding down the door a little. He wouldn’t fall, Cross held him steady enough, but the next high-pitched moan let him know the little change in angle was very much a good one.

“You look better in red _and_ purple,” Cross huffed, appreciating the flush and glow of the ecto under the sheer fabric as well as under his fingers.

Bunny blinked at him and Cross realized there were tears gathered at the corners of his sockets, but he wasn’t telling Cross to stop, much less slow down. “Bet you’d — ah! — look good in red, too.”

Cross couldn’t help the grin tugging at his teeth, nor did he want to. He thrust into the other one, as deep as he could, pulling out a whine from the depths of Bunny’s ribcage. He could feel the pressure mounting in his pelvis, all too fast.

There was something about the fact that he was fucking an absolute stranger, both of them wearing masks to boot, the shamelessness displayed ever since they’d met, and his eagerness… and maybe the fact that their magics were so similar he almost couldn’t even see himself beyond the ecto-stomach, was also helping.

Whatever it was — maybe a bit of all of those - they were fast bringing Cross to his peak.

“I’m close,” he warned, a piece of his fried mind retaining its courtesy.

Bunny dug his heel into the small of Cross’ back, hand moving along his length before returning to the head, cupping it. It almost seemed the other was just as close.

“Like I told you — inside,” Bunny grit out, words intersped by another moan. “Don’t you _dare_ pull out.”

Cross grit his teeth, holding Bunny close to himself as he hilted once more. He’d no doubt leave bruises on the lilac of his hip, but the thought was a welcome one, like a reminder of this night that would follow Bunny for a couple of days to come.

He came with a grunt, spilling himself into the ecto that greedily sucked him in, walls clenching down on him like Bunny wanted to milk him of everything he had to give.

The smaller skeleton cried out at the feeling of being filled, bucking his hips. Purple cum spattered his palm, the cry trailing off into a long whine. Cross pulled out when the feeling of the fluttery walls started bordering on painful, and Bunny clamped down, so none of the cum could drip out of him.

Cross caught his hand, moving it to his face, and diligently started to lick the phalanges clean. Bunny’s release tasted electric, like little shocks to his tongue, and Cross found himself wanting to drop to his knees and clean him properly.

Bunny, though, unhooked his leg from Cross’ pelvis and stood up, if a little wobbly. His smile was equal parts drowsy and smug; he thanked Cross for cleaning his hand by pulling his veil away and kissing him again, much slower than before, but with no less passion.

He could no doubt taste himself on Cross’ tongue, but he didn’t say anything, simply licking his teeth as he pulled away, veil falling back in place.

“I hope that was good enough for a thanks,” he laughed with a wink that had Cross blushing all over again. “I’ll be going, I’m sure my partners are wondering where I’d gone. See you later, little sun.”

Cross watches as Bunny expertly opened the door behind himself, letting in the loud sounds of the band and the party-goers. “Wait—” he called, barely catching the other before he slipped away.

Bunny inclined his head in that cute way again, looking back over his shoulder.

“I— how did you know I’d come to the ball?”

Bunny laughed, loud and mirthful. “I did say I’d tell you, didn’t I? Hope that’s not the only reason you agreed to escort me.” They stared each other down for a moment, and then Bunny turned away again. “I didn’t say I’d tell you today. Maybe some other time, little sun.”

Before Cross could say anything else, he was gone, down the hallway and off behind a corner. Cross took a moment to right himself, finding himself relatively clean, if a little wrinkled.

He threw one last look at the bedroom; it wasn't in his nature to snoop around, but this was Nightmare's castle, after all. There was a book laying on the bedside table, and a white shirt in a heap besides the dresser.

The room looked like it belonged to someone, and yet felt like no one had stayed in it for a while. It was a little confusing. And maybe a little sad. And maybe Cross' magic was still a little rattled from the orgasm, who knew.

He slipped out into the hallway, thumbing the key that Bunny had used to unlock it. It didn't feel right to leave the room unprotected, so he slid it into the lock and turned. The band's next song drowned out the little click, but that was fine.

Cross pocketed the key, hoping to give it back if -- when -- he ran into Bunny again, but when he turned to walk back towards the party, Killer was there, arms folded and looking angry.

Bunny's wording hit Cross over the skull with enough force to make him want to recoil. Bunny had talked about 'his partners' from the start; did that mean he'd just made the other skeleton cheat? The thought was disgusting. Not to mention that he hung about Killer and Horror and... Nightmare. It was a veritable army that Cross was sure would be a mistake to turn on himself.

"Hey, little sun," Killer said. There was no inflection to his words, none save a twinge of irritation. Cross prepared himself to be yelled at, maybe even attacked. "You just cost me a wager."

That... was not what Cross had expected to hear.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, sure he must've misheard.

"Save the sorries," the demon waved him off. "What a sight, to see little Bunny rushing to us, reeking of sex and _you_. He begged to be cleaned out, you know."

Cross' skull went purple, shoulders hunching up. "Why are you telling me that?" he asked. Except to humiliate me. The mental image was making Cross' SOUL do a cartwheel in his ribcage.

Killer shrugged. "Just thought you might enjoy knowing he's well taken care of."

Cross squinted at him, trying to place what he was feeling about the whole ordeal. It was pretty hard with nothing but a permanent grin and empty sockets to go by, though.

"Bullshit," he called.

Killer huffed through his nasal aperture and dug his phalanges into his humerus. "Yeah, fine. If you must know, I'm pissed. Moonflower gets to be the one to eat him out and I'm stuck on fucking fetch duty. Great job, church boy. Now, stop standing there like a statue and come along. Nightmare's expecting you."

"Nightmare?"

"Pshh, who do you think invited you in the first place?"

Cross didn't have any retort to that. He hesitated for half a moment, feet rooted to the spot even as Killer turned around and marched down the hallway as if expecting him to just follow along like a little lamb. And the worst part was that Cross did, falling in step behind him.

He expected them to go back down the staircase, but instead, Killer veered to the left and tapped his foot against the tiles. "Don't keep him waiting, little sun."

The balcony doors were closed, falling open a crack to Killer's deft fingers. The curtains, a rich purple, were drawn over the glass panes to simulate privacy. Cross swallowed dryly.

It still seemed like a better pastime than being with Killer and his annoying antics, though, so Cross slipped through the small crack out into the chilly night air. The door closed behind him with a click, the music now faint with the barrier.

Nightmare was there, leaned against the railing and overlooking the gardens. His wings were shifting minutely, the thin tentacles wrapped around the bones undulating. He looked content.

"Ah, that was quicker than I expected," he said, twisting his body to face Cross.

He didn't know if he was supposed to say something or not, eyelights rowing left to right, anywhere but at the skeleton before him.

Nightmare sighed, his shoes clicking as he took a step towards Cross. And another. And another. They ended up a pace apart, and Cross could see the slime covering him clearly now, gently moving as if alive. He had the strangest urge to touch it, to see if it was slimy like he thought.

"I have to say, watching you try and... dance, with my boys was laughable at best. Here," he said, taking one of Cross' hands in his and placing the other one onto his shoulder. "Let me show you how it's done."

Nightmare stepped forward with one foot.

"Same side foot, one step back," he instructed, so Cross stepped back.

There was a smile playing on Nightmare's face, his eyelight decidedly pleased. He stepped to the side with his other foot. "Same movement, same side."

Cross mirrored him.

"Right foot to the left," Nightmare told him, sliding towards where their feet faced each other. Cross' shoe squeaked on the tile, but he didn't falter. "Good."

He was sure his skull was flushed, but in the relative darkness, only the garden lanterns swaying beneath them, he was sure it wasn't all that obvious. The praise made him happier than it had any right to.

"Now we repeat it, backwards. Left foot forward." Nightmare stepped back with his right, Cross following with his left. The other's wings were shifting behind him, the jewels lining the long veil over his shoulder trailing in the gentle breeze.

Cross found himself almost mesmerized, by the presence of the millionaire, the air he held himself with. It felt like Cross was dancing with multiple people at once, but it didn't feel oppressive.

"Right foot to the side," Nightmare said, Cross moving before he even finished. His foot mirrored the movement. "And left to right." 

They slid their feet back together, and Nightmare nodded. "Just like that. A simple one-two-three. Come now, one. Two. Three."

The music coming from the inside was quiet, but they weren't even moving to it. Nightmare kept repeating a quiet chant of 'one, two, three' as they repeated the steps, over and over. The way he made it sound, it was easy. Cross was astonished at being taught so easily.

"What's your name?" Nightmare asked. Even when he stopped counting the steps, they kept up the tempo, moving as one. The clicking of Nightmare's heels felt as loud as the pounding of marrow in Cross' head.

"Cross."

"How cute. I suppose that's your real name, isn't it?"

Cross nodded, unsure what that meant.

"It shows you've never been to a masquerade, little sun," Nightmare said, pulling his full attention to himself. "Not that I'm not pleased by your presence at my little event, but why did you come?"

Cross' answer spilled from him unbidden, the thought of lying not even occuring to him. "I'm... investigating the demons in the city."

"Hm... That's what I thought, then."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been watching you, exorcist. Church boy. Little sun. I hope you know I will not let you hurt any of us."

Cross blinked at all the nicknames. "What?" he choked out, "You've been watching me? How...?"

Nightmare laughed, head thrown to the side to adjust the veil that threatened to fall off his shoulder. "Oh, come now, you wound me. There's no way an exorcist such as yourself didn't feel it the moment you stepped within my domain."

Cross felt like he just got punched in the sternum. "Your domain— no— wait, so you _are_ —?!"

Nightmare simply chuckled again, his grip on Cross' hip tightening momentarily. "Now you've got it. Smart boy."

The energy hanging around the mansion, around the city... When Cross blinked down at the other, he swore he could almost see it, like a faint heatwave tinted with seafoam green. So the priest had been right in his accusations, and yet... And yet Nightmare did nothing, even as he revealed his identity. He simply kept holding Cross and moving, steps practiced and perfected.

His laughter sounded like chiming bells, something Cross never thought he'd think about a demon. There was a smile on his teeth, sharp canines on display, but it was... soft, almost?

"Do you think you get the steps, now?" he asked, and Cross could only nod.

He found himself missing Nightmare's touch the moment it was gone, the... demon stepping away. His wings stretched, the draped fabric catching light on their stars, embroidered in gold. Everything about the other was regal, kingly. Cross thought about the possibility of mind-control, but he knew what that felt like. And it wasn't this.

"It was my pleasure to teach you, Cross."

It was the first time he said Cross' real name, and it hit a pang in his SOUL. He had to fight down a gasp that threatened to escape him.

"The auction will be starting soon. It is up to you if you wish to attend. But I'm sure that our paths will _cross_ again." He laughed at his own pun, and Cross was loath to find a smile tugging at his own teeth. Nightmare leaned back against the railing again, leg crossed over the other just as he folded his arms on his chest. He didn't seem worried that Cross could summon a weapon and drive it into his ribcage, but to be fair, Cross didn't want to do that, for some reason or another.

Their gazes met, the seafoam of Nightmare's eyelight soft. The entire expression was almost tender. 

"And, please," he called, so softly that Cross almost didn't catch it, "Do try to stay safe, little sun. My partners seem to have taken a shine to you."

Cross didn't know what Nightmare was insinuating, but his throat was dry and it was more than obvious it was time to leave the balcony. Leave Nightmare on his own.

The music sounded deafening when he slipped inside, and he aimed towards the refreshments. His mind was full of questions, and not enough answers.


	7. INTERMISSION 2; more than watchmen wait for the morning

The moment they dispersed, Dust’s fingers were on Horror’s wrist, all but yanking him back upstairs. If he were Killer, he would already have teased him for his impatience and insatiability, but as it stood, his tongue had manifested in his mouth and he was just as eager.

As soon as they were behind a corner, away from prying eyes, Dust squeezed his hand. It was the only warning before the world went topsy-turvy, and then they were in Nightmare’s bedroom, though  _ theirs  _ would fit the large room better.

Dust twisted around so fast he almost tripped over his high heel, leaving up desperately to kiss Horror. It was always electric to kiss him, sparks flying between their magics. The second Dust’s teeth parted, Horror’s tongue was between the, running over every nook and cranny it could, like he wanted to map out the space, despite already knowing it by SOUL.

He could taste the traces of their little exorcist on Dust’s teeth and tongue. It was sweet, like the chocolate he liked so much, but also tangy. Probably the champagne Nightmare insisted was the best money could buy. It still tasted like lemon juice to Horror.

“Please, big guy,” Dust begged, and Horror noticed he was shaking. “I can’t hold it any longer.”

The confession had his SOUL skipping a beat. Dust pulled away to yank the dress up, exposing the rest of his ecto-body. When he’d rushed to them, purple in the face and walking funny, Nightmare had almost blown a lid with the amount of concern he showed. He must’ve thought something happened to their little bunny, but Dust’s words, breathless, as if he’d just run a marathon, had placated him just as much as they riled him up again.

‘Guess who fucked the church boy.’

‘Another church boy, from the looks of it,’ Nightmare had chuckled, still rowing Dust’s body, just to make sure.

Horror had looked over to Killer, who was glaring daggers at Dust like he’d personally offended him. He’d broken him out of it with a hand to his shoulder. ‘You owe me,’ he’d said, ‘5G.’

Killer had huffed, slapping his hand away, much to Dust’s vocal amusement. ‘This is bullshit. How did  _ you, _ of all people, get into his pants first?!’

Dust had shrugged, stepping from foot to foot. ‘I’m prettier. Anyway, I uh— need help. I had him cum inside, so the dress wouldn’t get fucked up before the auction. Anyone up for cleaning duty?’

There had been a glint to his eyelight, one that not even the veil could hide. Killer had sprung forward, only for Nightmare to stop him with nary a look.

‘Horror, how about you help out  _ dear  _ Bunny,’ he’d said. Horror had lit up; his affinity for such was no secret. ‘Killer, be a dear and fetch the little sun. I planned to wait until the night was over to talk to him, but Dust has changed my mind.’

Dust hadn’t even had the decency to look ashamed of himself, but he never did outside of his ‘work.’

‘I’m on fucking fetch duty?’ Killer had all exclaimed, incredulous, only to earn another one of Nightmare’s grins.

‘Correct. I will wait on the main balcony. Don’t dawdle  _ too _ long.’

Truthfully, Horror would have been more than happy to take Dust right then and there in front of every single guest and camera, but Nightmare was a stickler for the appearances. Plus, in their room, Horror would be the only one to hear Dust’s cries, and that made up for the little spark of possessivity that was kindling in Horror.

“Thank you,” Horror said, with a grin sharp enough to rival one of Killer’s knives, “for winning the bet for me.”

Dust mirrored him, just as wide and sharp. “He’s too easy to rile up. Makes him cute, when he’s all glaring like that. Wonder what he’ll do.”

“Nothing,” Horror stated simply, pushing Dust to sit down on the edge of the plush mattress, “Least not before me.”

Dust laughed, clenching his thighs together. He really did seem to barely be holding on. “Oh, what’re you gonna do?”

“I can… I can tell you.” Horror dropped down onto his knees before him, pulling his mask off along with the floral arrangement. He set it aside and gently pried Dust’s legs apart. It was a good thing he was still holding the dress up and out of the way, because purple slick leaked out of him, staining the sheets.

Horror rose a browbone, looking up at Dust quizzically.

Dust met his gaze and his grin turned vicious. “He’s purple.”

Horror’s eye dilated, mouth watering as he looked back down. Dust’s cock was bobbing against his stomach, leaking. He was surprised at how much that little tidbit got to him.

“I’m gonna swallow you up,” he said, a promise as he leaned in, bracing a hand on one of Dust’s thighs each. He licked a stripe through Dust’s soaked folds, pulling out a shaky moan. From this close up, he could see the cum leaking out of him was just a little darker than Dust’s own fluids, just a few shades different.

It, too, tasted sweet, and mixed so well with Dust’s taste. Horror dove in properly, tongue licking into the used passage and making Dust’s breath hitch. Slick ran down his mandibles as he diligently cleaned up all the cum, only for it to be replaced by Dust’s slick.

Dust wanted to arch up into him, but Horror’s hands held him down. It was maddening.

“Horror,” he whined, unsure what he was even asking for. His magic was heating up again, joints flaring each time Horror’s tongue slid in as far as it could go. But the bigged skeleton pulled away, licking his teeth. Dust shook, watching him with hazy eyelights, edges threatening to turn them heart-shaped.

“He tastes so good,” Horror mused. He sounded as pleased as the cat that got the cream, licking up the mess dripping down his chin. Miraculously, none of it got on his toga. Dust would have been impressed, if he hadn’t been strung up so high only to lose the delicious friction.

Horror was looking up at him, ready to  _ devour _ him, like that had just been an appetizer.

“You wanted to know,” he muttered. His voice sounded like  _ he’d  _ been the one with a tongue inside him, just a minute ago. “What I’d do… to the little exorcist. Lemme… Lemme tell you.”

Dust’s mouth fell slack, curiosity warring with the ideas that were springing up in his mind. He swallowed heavily. “Tell me.”

Horror shot him a grin, turning his head to press a kiss to his twitching thigh. “Gonna take him on the counter,” he breathed against the soft, fake flesh. He never looked away from Dust’s face, drinking in every little expression that passed over it. “Gonna sit him up… like you are. Gonna get on my knees. Just like this.”

Dust panted; he could imagine it, vivid and clear. He wasn’t sure if Horror had already planned this at some point, and he was just using him as a test subject, or if he was just coming up with it as he went. Either way, the fact that the fantasy was so close to  _ them _ was… 

“And then… I’m gonna eat him. Down to the root…” Dust’s cock twitched at the promise. “He’s not much… much bigger than you, lambchop. Gonna swallow him up… and get my tongue so deep in him… Gonna taste him.”

Dust was not above begging, a fact he was about to remind Horror of, but he didn’t have to. He opened his jaw wide, as careful of his teeth as ever, and engulfed Dust’s cock, down to the root just like he’d said, all in one go.

Dust doubled over, hands gripping Horror’s skull to keep him in place. But he soon realized his dress wouldn’t hold itself and, loathing it, took one hand off to grip the sheer fabric. Horror rewarded him with a hum that shook him down to the core.

Next to him, Dust was tiny, and Horror wasn’t showing any signs of discomfort, even with his face pressed to Dust’s pelvis. He idly wondered if Cross was long enough to choke him, and found himself wishing he’d be able to see Horror do the same to him. He resigned himself to a second hand recollection, but at least he had the real thing for himself.

While he was musing, Horror’s tongue lolled out, the flat of it running over the underside of Dust’s cock and making him jolt. It was more than long and dextrous enough to worm back into his cunt, spreading the entrance around it effortlessly.

“Fuck,” Dust moaned out, squeezing his sockets closed. “Horror, please…”

Horror hummed again, and Dust could feel it around  _ and inside _ himself. He ran his hand over the other’s head, tracing the jagged edges of his head wound. He was already so close.

And yet Horror upped the ante, slowly bobbing his head. Each time Dust’s cock just barely reached the back of his mouth, his tongue slipped into the wet cunt and lapped up all the slick his body refused to stop making. It made him want to beg, made his cunt ache to be filled, but Horror hadn’t summoned anything. He was content with what he already had, and if he was happy, so was Dust.

“Ho—Horror,” he grit out, when the coil of pressure mounted in his pelvis. “I’m close, please…”

The bigger skeleton was still looking at him, eye determined, and Dust realized he’d not looked away the whole time. It warmed his SOUL as well as his face, and Nightmare could no doubt feel it.

Horror swallowed him down and stayed there, tongue flicking around his walls as it could, wonderful, perfect pressure against the tensing muscles. He came with a shout of Horror’s name, and if the bedroom wasn’t in a different wing, he was sure the entire ballroom would’ve heard him.

Diligently, Horror swallowed every last drop from his cock as well as making sure there wasn’t any left on his lips, and only then did he pull away, taking a deep breath as he seemed to savor it.

“Thanks… for the meal,” he said, and Dust couldn’t  _ not  _ chuckle, not when Horror looked like  _ that. _

“‘nytime, big guy,” Dust all but gasped.

Their little reverie was cut short when Horror’s phone went off, a shrill alarm echoing in the room. He fished it out of a hidden pocket of his toga, and flicked it off with a single phalange.

“Auction time… soon,” he said, standing up. The only indication he’d been affected by their activity was the rust-red flush high on his cheekbones, while Dust had to wrestle with the dress and his crooked mask to look presentable again.

“So, what d’you think? Think Cross is still in one piece?” he asked, as he helped Horror put his own mask and crown back on. Soon enough, they both looked like (almost) nothing had happened. 

“Wanna bet on it…?”

Dust chuckled and lightly punched his humerus. “And lose? You’d have a streak. No, thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> horror's cleanup duty (privilege)! this is TECHNICALLY a spoiler for chapter 9/10ish, but the spoilers are literally just porn.


	8. may all gold from sheba be given him

Cross made his way back to the refreshments in as inconspicuous a beeline as he could. The music still sounded too loud in his skull, pounding like a headache, but he didn’t want to leave the ball just yet.

Still reeling from the recent revelation — and his own stupidity — he wanted to learn as much as he could about the demon. No, _demons,_ plural. The wine tasted as sour as it had before, and it provided no buzz to make up for it, but at the very least, it soothed the dryness of his throat.

He waited for any of them to show up, eyelights scanning the ballroom in search of the familiar costumes, but there was no sign of them, no matter where he looked. He was surprised to see _just_ how many skeletal monsters were in attendance, though each one he spotted only got his hopes up in vain.

It was only when he overheard two of them — one dressed in something golden that put his attempt at a sun to shame, and one who looked like a walking rainbow, too bright and eye-catching — talking about popping into the auction hall that he remembered that the event was probably in full swing. Sneakily, he followed the pair up the staircase and down the other corridor, where voices started overpowering the band.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout new bling?” the rainbow skeleton in front of him asked, as they slipped into the spacious room, filled with rows upon rows of ornate chairs, all facing a low podium. Even in here, the decorations were abundant; thick, silky purple drapes covered large-paned windows, and the floral arrangements in large vases filled the air with their sweet smell.

“Dunno, but you’d look great in the moonflower one.”

Cross tuned the conversation out when it devolved into quiet snickers, and stared at the lineup on the podium. All of them were there, standing in a line, with Nightmare just a step ahead and holding a microphone in one hand.

Killer was on his left, immediately looking at him with a lopsided smirk, even if his sockets were narrowed in a glare. Cross had no idea what kind of an expression it was, but he blamed the stupid X-shaped mask for it. Horror and Bunny stood to the right, and they, too, turned their gazes on him.

Cross wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole where he stood. But a moment passed, and then two, and it became obvious that it wasn’t going to. He had to deal with the knowing looks, but it proved too much right now. Maybe the wine was finally getting to him. He doubted it, but he was desperately searching for a scapegoat for all his troubling thoughts.

He moved to the first empty seat he could see and picked up the little sign that sat on it. It was a simple cardstock circle with the number seventy-eight on it, but even that was made extravagant with the black paper and golden ink that was used.

Very fast, Cross was made aware that he knew nothing of how an auction worked. Nightmare was calling out numbers and prices — at least, Cross thought they were prices. There definitely weren't six hundred seats in the room. And then he realized it was six hundred _thousand_ of G, and his head spun all over again. That was probably chump change for these people, wasn’t it?

Cross couldn’t even imagine that much money in one place, much less imagine spending it on a costume, of all things. At least it was for charity, so that counted for something, right?

He could see Bunny chuckling behind a hand, like he knew exactly what was running through Cross’ mind. It only made him feel more self-conscious, and he ducked as far down as he could without losing sight of the podium.

He had no idea how Nightmare was keeping track of the bids, but people in the audience were raising their numbered cards, and he would acknowledge them with a nod and start counting up, only to repeat the process all over once the next person raised their number.

Killer’s costume sold for one million six hundred thousand G.

He flashed the audience a bow, entirely too flourish-y, and exited stage left, to the room’s booming applause. Horror stepped forward and Nightmare called out the starting bid on his floral arrangements. Cross sucked in a breath when he learned it was half a stars-damned million.

The gold-clad skeleton Cross had followed in here stood up, raising his arm instead of his card. Cross watched him with anxious curiosity.

“What is the buyout price?” he asked, spurring murmurs among the crowd.

Nightmare regarded him with a weird look, a sparkle in his eyelight. He grinned. “Four million.”

The golden skeleton grinned right back, raising his number. “Make it sold.”

They kept staring at each other for a moment longer and for some reason, Cross had a nagging feeling they knew each other. Eventually, when the crowd got a bit too rowdy, Nightmare tapped the microphone with a phalanx.

“Sold to number fifty-three for four million,” he said, a prompt for Horror to leave, as well. He didn’t bow, simply inclined his head down and threw the buyer a look that almost looked grateful. Though upset, the crowd still offered him an applause.

Bunny was the last one to step forward, twirling on a heel to make the dress flutter around. His starting bid was also half a million. People raised their cards, one after another, and it wasn’t long until nightmare was calling out prices well into the seven digits.

“Heya, little sun,” came from behind Cross, and he almost jumped out of the skin he didn’t actually have.

“K—Killer!” he hissed, as the other slipped into the seat next to him. He could’ve sworn someone had been sitting there before. Killer was no longer wearing the garish costume, instead clad in his usual hoodie and shorts, and it was entirely out of place in the sea of colorful eccentricity. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you company, duh. Hey, you liked Bunny’s dress, right?”

Cross was sure there was a right answer to that, and a wrong one. And the way his cheeks felt bright enough to illuminate the room should the power go out felt like the wrong one. Killer smirked, self-satisfied, and raised a hand. Except it was Cross’ card he held up, along with his arm.

“What are you _doing!”_ Cross balked, yanking his hand back down, but Nightmare had already acknowledged the bid, albeit with a raised browbone. Thankfully, someone else raised theirs. The price was steadily climbing up to two million.

“Uh, bidding? That’s what you do at an auction. Look, do you want Bunny’s dress or not?” The last question seemed entirely rhetorical, and Killer pulled Cross’ arm and number back up.

“Two point two million for number seventy-eight for the first time,” Nightmare said. Cross’ face paled, as much as bone could.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, wrestling with Killer’s hold. “I don’t have that kind of money, you idiot!”

Killer looked at him in a way that told Cross if he had eyelights, they’d be rolling. “I know that. I’m payin’ for it, dumbass,” he said, even as he rose their hands again. He had a surprisingly strong grip.

Cross did his best to tune the rest of the bidding out, embarrassed out of his mind. Killer kept raising their hands, over and over, and when Nightmare called out the final price, Cross thought he was going to pass out.

“Sold to number seventy-eight for three million nine hundred thousand.”

Bunny was hiding more giggling behind a hand, and he offered a wink before he left. Killer finally dropped their hands, looking as pleased as a cat that got the cream, even if he went for a pout, of all things.

“There goes my monthly allowance,” he lamented, “Hope you’re at least thankful.”

Cross couldn’t even begin deciphering if he was serious or not, but he didn’t think he wanted to. He shoved the numbered card into Killer’s hands and did his best impression of not knowing who he was. At all.

Which proved fruitless as Killer leaned into his personal space with a grin that was wide enough to nearly split his skull in two.

“So, do you want the dress by itself, or should I tell Bunny to keep it and surprise you with it?”

Cross hated the fact he could feel his cheekbones heating up again. “What the fuck, honestly?”

“Or should I keep it? Might be a bit tight around the ribs, but you wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

“Stars, shut up,” Cross hissed, looking around to see if anyone was listening to Killer’s babbling. “You bought the damn dress, do whatever you want with it. This has nothing to do with me.”

Killer’s teeth pulled up into something that could be called a _pout_ again. “But I bought it for _you,_ little sun. Where’s the fun if you don’t give your input?”

“Fucking stars.”

“I’m keeping it, then,” he said, completely ignoring Cross’ exasperated sigh. “But I’ll let Bunny borrow it if he asks.” He paused, as if something just occurred to him. “Y’know, Nightmare’s about his size, too. Bet he’d look great in it.”

Cross mentally cursed Killer’s entire existence, since doing it outloud wasn’t doing anything. But now that the idea was in his mind, he couldn’t get rid of it, glancing towards the podium. Nightmare was calling out the bids on his own costume, but Cross’ mind was too busy imagining him in the transparent dress to hear the prices. It’d certainly contrast well with his dark bones.

“Alright, I’ll catch you later, little sun,” Killer said all of a sudden, reminding Cross that he was, in fact, still in a room full of people, fantasizing about a demon in a four million G dress.

Killer slinked out of the hall while Cross pondered how the hell his life got to this point.

He caught the tail end of the auction before he, too, picked himself up, just about ready to return to his hotel room.

Nightmare’s costume sold for five million and one hundred thousand G.

Cross was in way over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's been a while, and anything I'd post after the last chapter wouldn't be up to par, so i just decided to jump the gun  
> Hope y'all can still enjoy it 🥺💜

**Author's Note:**

> you can talk to me on [tumblr](https://armethaumaturgy.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/esqers)  
> 


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